


Inebriation and Consequences

by Ameliorably



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Drunk Sex, F/M, Season 2, the 1950s, the aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-10-12 07:28:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 26,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10485516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ameliorably/pseuds/Ameliorably
Summary: Hawkeye and Margaret have a particularly crappy session in the OR and end up in bed together, but it has further reaching consequences than the night of distraction they'd intended. Set in the later part of Season 2.





	1. Chapter 1

 

It’d been one hell of a day. The now over wave of casualties hadn’t been large by anyone’s standards, but nothing killed a mood quite like having two guys in a row die on your table. Hawkeye and what was left of his soul trudged over to the Officer’s Club. What he needed was hard liquor. Hard liquor, and maybe a nurse.

Once inside he surveys his options and decides on just the liquor. The only nurse in sight is Margaret and, though tangling with her might be fun, she’s never been a realistic option for what he’s after tonight. She’s nursing a scotch. She’d been assisting him in the OR, and for all her regular army act, he knows she’s feeling it: the waste human life, that crushing futility of war.

He walks over sidles up to her, “Evening, Major, how would you like to accompany me back to your tent so that we can get to know each other without clothes on?”

She narrows her eyes, “Ugh!”

“Ugh!” he mocks back at her.

“Get lost, Pierce.”

“Yes, mother.”

He wanders lazily over to the bar wearing his pretend smile as a mask, he oozes insincerity.

“Barkeep! I’ll have the driest martini known to mankind, and another one of whatever she’s drinking for the lady Major.”

She looks over at him, unimpressed. This is exactly what he wants. He may not be able to find an easily available bed mate, but he can at least have a little bit of fun driving her crazy.

He smiles his mocking smile and gives her a little wave. She huffs and looks in the opposite direction. He doesn't push her any further, though. He places the drink on her table with a flourish and goes to sit somewhere on the opposite side of the room. He smirks when a small frown creases her forehead.

 

* * *

 

He’s a few more drinks down when he turns his attention to her again. She stumbles slightly as she gets up to go to the bar. When she returns to her table he decides to make his next move. He goes and sits down at her table.

“What do you want?” It’s not a question, it’s a demand issued with all the drunken composure she can muster, her voice is nasal.

“To sit with you for a while”

“Why don’t you go bother someone else?”

“Well all the other nurses are in their tent having hot cocoa before bed or whatever it is they do, and the enlisted men aren’t really my type.”

“How lucky for me.”

Some of the other nurses enter the club and make a beeline for the jukebox. Music fills the air.

He sets his charm level to “over the top” and holds out his arm to her, “May I have this dance, Major?”

She huffs, “Fine, as long as after that you leave me alone!”

He leads her to the dance floor and he starts leading her around it, their step is loose and clumsy. He pulls her in close, pressing the full length of her body against his, waiting for her to snap at him.

He’s looking for any kind of release, even if only by way of a decent shouting match with the very outside, virtually nonexistent chance of a night in bed with the fabled Hot Lips.

When he looks down at her her eyes are glinting with mild rebuke, but she’s not entirely displeased, they hold a challenge. He grins at her; a challenge? He can be a challenge. He slyly moves the arm he has around her waist down so that he’s caressing her buttocks and gives each of them a squeeze for good measure.

Still nothing. But whatever this new game is, he’s enjoying himself.

What he was not counting on, though, was her retaliating. He yelps when her tongue makes contact with his neck. The dance floor is thrown into chaos as they screech to a halt, and others become more interested in trying to figure out what on earth is going on.

Not to be outdone he puts his hands on either side of her face and mashes his open mouth against hers. Her tongue is in his mouth in a heartbeat, and whatever the game has been, they’ve both lost. Each of them are fuel, and the other a match.

Their surroundings and location are temporarily forgotten. All other occupants of the club are completely still, watching these two officers who've lost their minds.

A one of the nurses gasps and another giggles as Hawkeye starts openly pawing at Margaret’s breast.

Trapper chooses this moment to poke his head in the club door, “Hey, has anyone seen H...oh.” He catches sight of his otherwise occupied friend and takes in the increasingly mortified faces of those around them at the rapidly escalating levels of inappropriateness.

“Hey, Hawk…”

He reluctantly stops kissing Margaret, “Not now, Trap, I'm busy”

“I can see that. Maybe you should think about taking your busy somewhere else, and by somewhere else I mean not The Swamp.”

Hawkeye grunts something unintelligible, his mouth having made contact with Margaret's again.

Trapper shrugs and leaves again, running into Henry on the other side of the door.

“I wouldn't go in there if I were you.”

“And why not?”

“Hawk and Hot Lips are in there getting a little carried away with practicing mouth to mouth resuscitation.”

“Pierce and Houlihan,are you kidding me?”

“They go by those names, too.”

Henry peers around the door to take a look, “Wow, they really are going at it, how did that happen?”

“Don't ask me, I just got here.”

“Where’s Frank?”

“Post Op. Wait ‘til he finds out.”

 

* * *

 

They eventually make it to her tent, though barely. It had taken a lot of willpower not to just throw her back onto a table in the Officer's Club and, If her panting was anything to go by, she probably would have gone for it. Every horizontal surface on their way back had been a temptation, hell, even some of the vertical ones. They're like a pair of horny teenagers, not a pair of thirty-something medical professionals.

They stumble into her tent and she switches on her lamp. Articles of clothing start hitting the floor before her door has had the chance to slam shut.

Naked, they tumble onto her bed, sending the cushions flying. All their frustrations, grief, pain, lust, and every shred of attraction they've ever felt for one another flows between them as they work out their tension. The past and present no longer exist, just the burning release through each other’s bodies and the blissful numb of being drunk.

Their coupling is loud and intense, just like any other interaction between them that’s ever involved any kind of passion. The whole camp can probably hear them. Soon spent, they collapse into a sticky, tangled mess of limbs. Neither of them speak, because speaking would mean asking questions neither of them want to think about the answer to. He should leave, he knows. Leave before he gets yelled out of here, or slink away into the darkness before any of this feels too much like reality, but his biology has other ideas, and before that plan can get any further he's out cold.


	2. Chapter 2

 

It's still dark when Margaret is jolted back to consciousness. She keeps her eyes shut, though, even without sight there's too much reality getting through. She doesn't remember all of the night before, but she remembers enough of a who and why her tent smells like sex, and the fact that he's the one tickling her forehead with his stale alcohol breath. She's sure she doesn't smell much better. She should probably wake him and get him to leave before anyone sees, and before he gets too comfortable. The last thing she needs is for this to get any worse. A thought occurs to her and she snaps bolt upright and turns on her lamp.

Hawkeye groans, “Turn that thing off will you, Trapper.”

She ignores him, frantically scanning the floor looking for any sign of a used condom or wrapper, any sign they didn't do what she thinks they did.  But they did, Oh, _god._ They _did._ As if to confirm that fact her hip comes into contact with a sizeable damp spot. She freezes.

“Pierce!” She hisses, elbowing him in the ribs.

“Margaret, it’s too early for this kind of abuse,” he groans, muffled into her pillow.

“How dare you!”

He lifts his head up, the gears in his mind whirring, “How dare I?”

“How dare you take advantage of me like that!”

“If I'm not mistaken, Margaret, you were the one who put _your_ tongue in _my_ mouth first.”

“Not that, you idiot,” she waves her hands, her voice rising, “You didn't use a thing!”

“A thing?”

“A condom!”

He’s perfectly still, eyes wide, the blood draining from his face. They really hadn't. He'd been so wrapped up in her that the thought hadn't even occurred to him. He’d never done that before, “Margaret, I’m sorry, I don't know what to say.”

“Do you make a habit of going around leaving women in a precarious state?” she demands. If her voice gets much louder she’ll be yelling

“No, this has never happened to me before!” he stammers, trying to find the right words, “and in the unlikely event that you do end up…” he gestures towards her middle, “...pregnant, then you have my word that I will do whatever it is you need me to do.”

“Out, get out!”

Hawkeye scrambles out of bed and starts trying to find his clothes, tossing aside her much smaller fatigues. She looks like she’s about to start throwing things and he wants to be gone by then. Margaret pulls up the blanket to cover her breasts and stares determinedly at her tent wall as he hurriedly gets dressed.

“We’ll talk about this later, okay?”

She doesn't respond, she can’t take any more of this right now, and he leaves without another word.

Margaret flops back onto her bunk and starts punching her pillow.“Idiot. Idiot idiot idiot!” she says to nobody in particular.

The post coital bliss from this one was even shorter than she expected. Forget that he’d forgotten, she hadn’t noticed his oversight either. Her blood runs cold as she considers the potential fallout.

Pregnant. Pregnant to _that man_

Her career would be over, and she wasn't sure whether him wanting to be involved would be better or worse than the scenario she considered more likely: being left alone holding the hypothetical baby.

No. It wasn’t going to happen. It wasn’t allowed to happen.

She was going to go on like none of this had ever happened and never think of it again.

What on earth had possessed her to sleep with him in the first place?

But she knew. She'd been eyeing off those talented hands of his for quite some time, and something about the look in his eyes told of his ability to make good on their lecherous promises, and oh boy had she craved those skills last night. Her bedroom life with Frank had cooled significantly since they'd first become an item, and the existence of his wife was starting to hang over them like a bad smell.

She doesn't completely despise Hawkeye as a person either. She respects him as a surgeon, and he has the ability to pull through whenever he’s needed the most. But he’s still an immature jackass who gets a kick out of mocking her and the army.

She lies still for a moment, willing sleep to return, but there’s no point, it’s not going to, now now.

With a heavy sigh she gets up and puts on her robe before angrily tearing the bedding from her bunk. She’s not sleeping in anything that smells like male and things she wants to forget. She’ll pay someone to get it done today.

She sniffs her shoulder and winces. She needs to clean herself, too. If Frank gets so much as a whiff of her in her current state he’ll know she’s spent the night with someone that’s not him, and it’ll be only a matter of time before he finds out with who. Though if half of the things she remembers about the night before are true, it’ll be a miracle if he doesn’t already know.

Everything feels so...sordid.

With an inward groan she grabs her towel and toiletries and heads for the showers.

* * *

 

When Hawkeye gets back to The Swamp he sits down on the edge of his bunk but makes no effort to get in.

Trapper squints into the darkness at what he assumes is the source of his waking, “You just gonna sit there ‘til morning?”

“Seems like one of my better ideas”

“What's the matter?”

“I had sex with Margaret.”

“Oh, well that's that's old news, tell me something I don't know.”

“I had unprotected sex with Margaret.”

Trapper props himself up on an elbow, “Hawkeye, what is wrong with you!”

“It was an accident, okay!”

“Aren't we a little old for accidents?”

“Look, I don't know how it happened. We were both so caught up in how good it was and neither of us realised.”

“So she's good, then?”

Hawkeye grins despite himself, “Everything we’d hypothesised and more.”

“Sounds like she won't forget you in a hurry, either.”

Hawkeye’s face darkens, “Well especially now that I might have given her something permanent to remember me by.”

“How'd she take it?”

“Well she woke me up to yell at me, screamed at me to get out, and before I left she seemed to be ignoring me.”

“You might have to marry her.”

“Yeah, that'd be a great foundation for a marriage: We don't like each other, I ended your career, killed your rabbit, and now we're stuck together and have a kid.”

“But the sex is great.”

“But the sex is great.”

“It'll be fine, then.”

“Hey, what are the odds of a woman getting pregnant anyway?”

“I think it's about 25 percent, something like that.”

“That's way too high.”

“Better than 75 percent. I'll order some cigars, just in case.”

“How about you order me a coffin instead.” He sighs, looking utterly deflated.

“It'll be right.”

“Is it too early to start drinking again?”

“You're gonna need your wits about you if Hot Lips is out to get you. Try sleeping.”

“Ugh, fine!” he says, flopping town into a horizontal position, but he doesn’t sleep, he lies and stares at the ceiling and waits for the sun to come up.

 

* * *

 

Morning comes all too soon. Margaret’s just finished tucking in her spare set of sheets when There’s a knock ather door, “Margaret, sweetie, are you in there?”

She sighs, “What is it, Frank?”

“Well, my shift just finished. I just thought we might catch breakfast together before I go to bed.”

“Okay, give me a minute.” She rushes to her mirror and makes sure she at least looks normal. She sure as hell doesn't feel normal, and Frank’s being so sweet and nice this morning, too.

“Everything alright in there, Margaret?”

“Coming, Frank!

She plasters a smile on her face and goes to greet him,

“Margaret, sweetie!”

“Oh Frank!” she says, throwing her arms around him with just a little bit too much enthusiasm.

“Are you okay, sweet cheeks? You look like hell.”

“Oh I’m fine, I just had a little trouble sleeping after that session in the OR, y’know? Let’s go get breakfast.” She hurries him off the the mess tent and keeps talking before he can ask her too many questions, “How was Post-Op, any of them give you any trouble?”

“Oh just one cry baby babbling on about how he’s not going back to the front. I sure showed him.”

Margaret nods and smiles in what she hopes is an approving way as they walk across the compound. Frank continues babbling on about patriotism and whatever else, but she's not really listening. Her heart’s not really in it this morning, and her mind is somewhere else.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this chapter a little bit earlier than planned in celebration of #mashfanart day (8/4/2017). Fan art by all of us can be found here

 

The whispers start as soon as they enter the mess tent. Margaret clenches her jaw but is unable to stop her face from turning pink. It’s like some kind of walk of shame, but worse.

Frank’s beady eyes roam the room as he notices her discomfort, “What’s going on, what are they saying?”

“Oh, probably just some stupid rumour, I didn’t hear all of it,” Margaret waves her hand dismissively, feeling her panic levels rising.

Frank glares at the offenders who raise amused eyebrows back at him and start tittering amongst themselves, “I’ll put them on report!”

Margaret says nothing, her face is still flushed, and her eyes dart around nervously.

Frank’s bemused by her behaviour, “You alright, honey bun?”

“Oh fine, just a bit under the weather, I really need to get more sleep,” she laughs awkwardly.

A hush descends over the tent as Hawkeye and Trapper walk in, and Margaret looks down, her face reddening further.

“Hi kids,” Hawkeye says far more casually than he feels.

“What on earth is going on!

“Oh, didn’t you hear, Frank? There’s a rumour going around that Margaret and I had sex last night, but pay no attention to them, it’s all true.”

“It is not!” Margaret grinds out

Frank is outraged, “Why you...I’ll bet you started it!”

“Wasn’t me, did you do it, Trap?”

“Wasn’t me, either.”

“Must have been someone else.”

For a moment it’s not clear whether Margaret’s going to strangle them or faint. “Come on, Frank,” she says, tugging on his elbow slightly desperately, “let’s get breakfast.”

 

The Majors eat their meal in silence. Margaret’s concentrating desperately hard on her breakfast, trying to appear normal, and Frank is eyeing everyone suspiciously while he tries to figure out what’s going on.  Margaret can feel eyes boring into the side of her head, and, when she eventually turns to look, is unsurprised to find Hawkeye looking at her. She whips her attention back to breakfast the second her eyes meet his, resisting the urge to bolt for the door.

“Morning, Majors,” Henry says as he enters the tent, giving Margaret a wide grin before moving on, “Pierce, McIntyre... I hear you had quite a night last night, Pierce. In fact, the whole camp did,” Henry smirks at Hawkeye before his eyes settle on Margaret.

 

“Colonel!” protests Frank, but Margaret’s had enough. If she has to take any more of this she’ll explode. She slams down her cutlery and storms from the tent.”

Frank’s mouth is wide open as he tries to decide whether following her is a good idea. She’s slightly terrifying when she’s in one of these moods, and he’s pretty sure she’s hiding something.

Hawkeye scowls, unimpressed, “Nice going, Henry.”

Frank’s jaw drops, and Trapper and Henry exchange raised eyebrows,

“Feeling a little responsible are we, Hawk?” quips Trapper.

“Y’know, I think I think I’ve had enough breakfast for one lifetime,” he says, striding out of the tent in the direction of The Swamp.

Henry turns to Trapper, “Well they’re happy.”

Frank watches entire exchange carefully, his beady eyes taking it all in. Maybe, just maybe, there might be something to this “rumour”.

It’s not unlike Margaret to be upset at being intimately linked to that degenerate, but for Pierce to be crowing about being rumoured to have slept with her one minute, and then upset that she’d been upset the next? Frank smelled a rat. A big rat. He finishes his meal and then carefully clears away his and Margaret’s trays, behaving in what he considers to be a calm way befitting an officer. Someone had to uphold standards, and it didn’t look like she was. He was going to confront her.

His first thought had been that there was no way his Margaret would lower herself to being with such a man, but the more he thinks about it, the less sure of that he is. She'd always seemed to enjoy his surprise kisses a little too much, but then other times she'd seemed to despise Pierce just as much as he did. That's it, he’s going to go over there and demand to know the truth.

Trapper and Henry watch him march purposefully out of the mess tent,

“Uh oh, looks like things are about to get ugly.”

“I'll say,” Trapper said, slowly chewing his breakfast.

 

Frank raps sharply on her door,

“Margaret? Margaret, I demand you open up this instant.”

“What is it, Frank?”

“It’s true, isn’t it?”

“What are you talking about, what's true?”

“You slept with Pierce. You spent last night in your tent with him letting him do...unspeakable things to you.”

“How could you say such a thing!”

“I know you're lying to me, Margaret.”

She sighs, “Fine. Yes, I spent last night with him.”

“After all we've been to each other, how could you!”

“We were drunk! It was a one off, a mistake, and anyway, mister, you’re one to talk, you’re married!”

“This affair is over, Margaret. It's one thing to have you sleeping around whenever there's a general in town, but this is taking things too far! You outrank him!”

“Take your, weak chinned, lipless face and get out!”

“And I suppose Pierce’s lips are better?”

“OUT!”

As the door slams behind him she picks up a bottle of perfume he'd bought her last trip to Tokyo and throws it at where he'd been standing. Coloured glass shatters everywhere, and her tent is filled with the scent of cheap, Japanese perfume. She throws herself onto her bunk and screams into her pillow. _Nice going, Houlihan. There goes your only ally for miles._ It had already been becoming clear he was never going to marry her, it had been just one excuse after another, but part of her had still been hoping. Now she had nothing, no one! All over one stupid night. It’s not like Pierce was ever going to stop chasing any old nurse, and she’s not sure she’d have him even if he did. If the worst did happen, she was going to be left in a terrible position.

 

Hawkeye’s lying on his cot when the door flies open and Frank marches in,

“Y’know, Pierce, you’ve done me some kind of favour. It’s one thing to know that she sleeps with Generals, but that she’d lower herself to a degenerate like you? She’s completely beneath me. She’s not worth the brass on her collar.”

“Oh and you are? She’s a better doctor than you, and she’s a nurse!”

“If she’s so good, you have her.”

Hawkeye thumbs his nose at him and picks up his notepad and a pen from beside his bed. He doesn’t have a good comeback for that, not now. He doesn't want to think too hard about the future, especially not where she’s concerned. He feels the need to confess.

 

_Dear Dad,_

_Something improbable happened last night, something I’d considered impossible: Major Margaret Houlihan and I shared a moment last night, a long moment, of the adult kind.  Now normally that wouldn’t be a problem other than trying to avoid her resulting wrath and self loathing, but last night she and I forgot something, something crucial. She’s not interested in talking to me at the moment, but now I’m stuck constantly wondering whether we’ve created a life and what the hell it will mean if we have._

 

_To make matters worse, Frank Burns has just dropped her like a hot potato for our night together. He used to pretend he didn’t know she enjoys entertain visiting brass in her tent, and now he’s dumped her as special punishment for being with me, and yet he’s the married man. Talk about hypocrisy._

_I haven’t spoken to her about it, but on the off chance she is pregnant, would you be willing to have her come live with you in Crabapple Cove? From what I’ve heard the only thing her family is big on is the army, and this would be decidedly a disappointment in that regard. I can't imagine they'd be too pleased with her. This of course depends on whether she is and whether she'll even accept my help, but I can't put it from my mind. It’s really bothering me._

 

_I'll let you know as soon as I know one way or the other,_

 

_Your stupid son,_

_Hawkeye._


	4. Chapter 4

 

The next three weeks pass in an awkward blur of long stretches dealing with wounded, trying to avoid Pierce and Frank, and attempting not to panic. Margaret has the date of her last monthly “gift” burned into her memory. She's calculated and recalculated the expected date of its return, but that still  hasn't stopped her from checking her calendar twice every day since. Since _that_ night. She winces.

Their mishap had happened _mid_ -cycle.

For the last 24 hours she's been trying a different approach, she's been avoiding her calendar. In fact, she wonders if she never looks at again whether time will stop and then maybe she can live the rest of her life suspended as normal.

Her time of the month not arriving today means she's a week late, an entire seven days. Her heart feels like it's in her chest.  Until now she’d been trying desperately to pass it off as stress or lack of sleep or poor nutrition, her body clock going whack from all those hours of surgery, anything that's not pregnancy. She opens her calendar to the page she’d been avoiding and growls in frustration,

“No, no, no, no, NO!” she yells into the musty tent air and slams the offending papers back down on her desk.

This can’t be happening, can it? She knows that it wasn’t long ago that she was lamenting that she had nothing but the army, but right now she’d give anything to be back there with those prospects. She stops and closes her eyes, taking a deep breath.

She needs to go and talk to Pierce. Really it’s the last thing she wants to do, but if she has to do this alone for another second she might just crack under the weight of it all. She’s got no other options, no friends, no understanding family, and it is technically his problem too. She knows he’ll at least treat her with _some_ dignity, even if there was a possibility he might ultimately throw her out on her ear. If this did indeed turn out to be the reality of their situation, she had no idea what he would do. She’d laugh the idea of them standing awkwardly at the altar together if it didn’t all cut so painfully close to the bone.

Tears start falling before she even realises she’s crying. She should get tested to confirm this...fact, but at this point she doesn’t see how it could possibly come back negative.

She wipes her eyes, trying to regain her composure. She needs to find Pierce.

 

* * *

 

 

Trapper’s in the Swamp, refilling the still when he sees Margaret coming through the mesh sides of the tent. She doesn’t look happy.

“Shit.”

Frank looks up from the magazine he’s reading and sneers, “Oh what does she want?”

“Quiet, Frank.”

Sure enough there's soon a knock on their flimsy, wooden door.

Trapper calls out, “It’s open, Major.”

Up close Trapper can see she’s been crying. Her eyes are puffy, and her makeup is smudged.

She clears her throat, “Do you know where I can find Pierce?”

Frank jumps in, “You should check your roster, _Major,_ I think you'll find that he's on duty.”

“Shut _up_ , Frank. Hawk’s in post-op, come on I’ll

walk you over there.”

She looks surprised but says nothing.

They start walking across the compound

“I don't need an escort.”

“You might not, but he’s gonna need someone to cover for him when you tell him what I think you're about to tell him.”

She simply nods once. If she opens her mouth she'll start crying again in the middle of the compound.

Trapper studies her for a moment and feels a rush of pity for her, “You wait here, I'll get him”

He finds him standing over a patient, studying a chart, “Hey Hawk?”

“Mmmmm?” he says without looking up.

“I’m here to relieve you.”

“What, why?”

“Margaret’s out there wanting to talk to you, and she looks pretty upset.”

The colour drains from Hawkeye’s face, “This is it, isn’t it.”

“It does look that way.”

He looks his friend in the eye, “Thanks, Trap.”

Hawkeye pokes his head out of the door and scans the compound for his target and finds her standing with her arms wrapped tightly around herself, squinting off into the middle distance. She starts when she notices him

“You’re…?”

Margaret nods, her eyes downcast. Neither one of them can say the word.

“I’m a week late for my--yes. I think so.”

There's an awkward pause.

“Have you talked to Henry about getting a test done?”

“No, not yet”

Hawkeye hesitates, both needing and not wanting to ask his next question. “I hate to ask you this, but are you sure it couldn't belong to our friend Major Burns?”

“How dare you, of course I’m sure! I would never have come to you if I thought--you were the only one around that time!” Her voice chokes as she starts to cry, “There's a slim chance, but Major Burns and I always took proper precautions!” she hisses before starting to charge away.

“Margaret.”

She doesn’t stop

“Margaret!” He takes a couple of long strides to catch up with her and grabs her by the arm.

“Let go of me!”

Passers by turn their heads to look as they go about their business.

“Look, will you just stop and listen to what I have to say for a minute?”

She stops, reluctantly, but doesn't turn around.

“Say the test is positive; I could be stuck in this place for quite some time. I'm not sure if you have any family who will help you out or whether you’re intending to go it alone, but I want you to consider going to stay with dad at my place after you're discharged.” She turns to him, eyes wide with shock. Hawkeye continues, “I may not be able to help you while I'm here, but I want you to have someone who will, and dad’s the next best thing, or possibly even better. I think he'd really like you. It's not that I don't think you can do it by yourself either, I don't want you to have to, and besides I wouldn't mind being involved in his or her life, and by that I mean I would like to be.”

Her shoulders heave with sobs. He's never seen her cry, let alone break down. He’s broken Major Houlihan. He stands helpless for a moment before gently, tentatively turning her around pulling her to his chest. He’s surprised that she lets him.

“Shh, it's going to be okay.”

She stiffens, “That's easy for you to say, it's not your career that's finished!”

“I know, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry that you're in this position in the first place. I'm sorry that it's my fault.”

Margaret breaks free from his embrace,

“I should go and find Colonel Blake.

“I'm perfectly capable of going on my own.”

“I know, but like before, I don't want you to have to.”

Her eyes narrow in suspicion, “Why are you being so nice to me, what's in it for you?”

“Because it's the least I can do. I  helped get you into this mess, I owe you this and then some.”

She looks away in an attempt to stop him from seeing that her eyes are welling up once more, “Thank you.”

 

* * *

  


Henry was in his office, trying in vain to put his doll back together for the umpteenth time when Pierce and Houlihan walked in, both wearing sombre expressions. This was not any combination he’d been expecting to see walking in together anytime soon. Since that night they’d been cool to each other, polite to each other, watchful of each other, but nothing more or less. If anything he’d expected raging passion, huge arguments or something else, anything else, but it had never happened.

“Alright, who died?”

Neither of them laugh.

“Uh, Major Houlihan thinks--”

“I think I might be pregnant, in fact I’m pretty sure I am.”

“You’re...you and him...oh...okay.”

Henry eyes them both, “You two knew this might happen the entire time, didn't you. This is why you've both been so surly. That must have been some night you guys had. What did you do? Or more to the point, what didn't you do?”

At the reddening of Margaret’s face and the discomfort on Hawkeye’s he knows he’s hit on the truth, “Ah gee you guys, you’re both--Nevermind. Okay Major,  what do you need me to do, order you some tests in Tokyo?”

“Yes sir”

“Okay, leave it with me, Radar, get me--!”

“Major Houlihan’s tests are booked in for the day after tomorrow, and here’s a 2 day pass for you to sign for her to use to get to Tokyo starting tomorrow, sir.”

“Thanks, Radar,” Henry sighs as he signs the papers and hands them to Margaret, “Now Major, I’m sure I don’t have to remind you about the automatic discharge that happens when a woman in the army gets pregnant, I’m sure you’ve seen that happen to other women before.”

She shakes her head and bursts into tears. She may have been a thorn in his side since she got here, but right now he just felt plain old sorry for her. Henry watches with fascination at the look of alarm and concern that crosses Hawkeye’s face as he tries to decide what to do with a freshly crying Major. Maybe they had something, he’d never quite understand how they worked. One minute they'd be in his office yelling at each other, the next, wading through guts together as one of the best surgical duos he'd ever seen. Though one thing was certain: No matter what happened, there were going to be some interesting times ahead.


	5. Chapter 5

 

“Uh, Hawkeye? Hawkeye!”

“I'm going to have you court martialed for violating the dead, what is it, Radar?”

“I have a wire from Major Houlihan.”

Hawkeye sits up immediately.

“Positive. Yes to Maine.”

Frank pokes his head out from under his blanket, “Positive? What's that supposed to mean? Oh…,” his eyes go round with glee at his bunkmate’s perceived misfortune,“You got her pregnant!”

Now Trapper’s awake, “Shut up, Frank!”

Hawkeye ignores both of them, “Radar, can you put through a call to my dad?”

“Right away, sir.”

Hawkeye gets up and throws on his robe before turning to Frank and deadpanning, “You better hope it's not yours, Frank.”

“I...you...it couldn't...it is not!” he sputters, too shocked to reply.

Hawkeye strides out the tent.

Trapper sighs and rolls his eyes, deciding to put a still gobsmacked Frank out of his misery, “Don't worry, Frank, there's a reason she's telling him and not you.”

Hawkeye trudged into door to Radar’s office. He wasn’t looking forward to having this conversation.

“How’s it going?”

“Just got through to Maine, they’re trying the number now. You’ve got the line for 2 minutes”

“Thanks, Radar.”

“It’s ringing.”

Hawkeye grabs the phone from him, “Hello, dad?”

He perches awkwardly on the edge of the desk, “Yeah, yeah, it’s me, listen--”

Hawkeye’s vaguely aware of Radar standing next to him, hanging on his every word,“--yes it’s about that letter I sent you.”

He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, the movement of his arms jerky with irritation, “I know, I’m an idiot, what can I say.”

His eyes snap open, his pupils skyward. He knows shouldn’t be getting snippy with his dad, but this whole situation is making him tense, and the tension is getting to him.

His voice drips with sarcasm, “Oh ha ha, Yes, it really was Major Houlihan. How do I know? Well, she sent through a message saying “Positive” and “Yes to Maine, so I think that’s a pretty big indicator--you’re up for a house guest?”

“Well I guess there's a slim chance it belongs to Major Burns, but he's not about to help her.”

Hawkeye’s shoulders slump in relief at his dad’s reply, “Thanks dad, I really appreciate it. I just wish I wasn’t stuck over here,”

He tenses up again at his dad’s next words, as a fresh wave of guilt washes over him, “How’s she taking it? Well I haven’t spoken to her since it was confirmed, but she was pretty upset before she left. I hadn’t seen her cry before, and now I’ve got Major tear stains all over my jacket,”

Radar leaps back as Hawkeye jumps up off the table, agitation levels rising, “Honestly I don't know. I know marrying her is what I’m meant to do, but the more I think about it, the more it just seems like a really bad idea. I mean, we’ve had our moments, but we’re barely ever on the same side of anything unless not work related--”

Radar makes a motion for them to wrap up

“--listen, dad, we’re about to be cut off, but I’ll have Radar send you her travel plans when they’re finalised--”

“Love you too, dad, and thank you.”

The line goes dead.

“Congratulations,” Radar says in a small voice.

Hawkeye half smiles, “Thanks, Radar.”

“I think it’s real nice of you to make sure she has someone to go home to.”

Hawkeye’s overcome by an unexpected wave of emotion. He says nothing, but claps his hand on Radar’s shoulder before walking out into the cool, morning air.

 

* * *

 

 

He’s on autopilot heading for The Swamp when he stops short. He’d rather not go back in there, not right now. There’s gotta be some place around here he can go to be alone, otherwise he might actually make good on that fantasy he’d been having about tying Frank up and having him mailed to the North Koreans. He turns and looks at Margaret’s tent before looking around, making sure no one’s looking, and walks in its direction instead.

It feels slightly surreal when he pulls open the door, it’s so _her._

It’s also very forbidden.

He steps into her into her temporarily uninhabited habitat, gently closing the door again behind himself. He perches himself on the edge of the bed and sighs, putting his head in his hands. Everything’s changing quickly and he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t even have the comfort of knowing that it’s for the better, only that it’s different. He runs his hands down his face and looks around once more, drinking in his surroundings, trying to memorise how it all looks, all her bottles of perfumes and potions and lotions, the smell of her skin and hair that lingers around her bed, the way it mingles with the mustiness of the tent. He tries to drink it all in before she’s gone and a stranger replaces her. He can’t explain how or why, but he’s starting to find the idea of her leaving almost unbearable. He doesn’t understand. They’re not friends, they’re barely lovers, he has absolutely no rights to her, but somehow she’s important. She’s become important.

She’s also pregnant.

The idea is still foreign in his mind, the idea that she’s growing something that will become a someone, someone part him and part her is abstract and ridiculous, yet also reality.

On a whim he walks over to her wardrobe and opens it. Her Class A’s are missing, but that’s because she follows regulations and wears them whenever she travels.

He reaches out and touches a silky slip that he feels he feels he shouldn’t. His strange and newly discovered reverence of her extends to her clothes.

They’ve been intimate, but they’re not on intimate terms.

He moves on to her her soft, blue robe and fingers the red piping around the lapels. He remembers her wearing it that night he’d called an impromptu meeting to catch a thief. She’d looked ridiculous, her face covered in what was probably some new fangled beauty product, some kind of ridiculous, greasy lotion. She always took care of her appearance. He remembers her eyes as she’d glared daggers at him as he’d smirked.

He pauses at a silk, kimono the colour of red wine. Real red wine, not the stuff they made in the swamp. The only time he remembers seeing in it when she’d called out for help when Frank had put his back out. She'd been pointlessly pretending he hadn't come from the direction of her tent.

He fingers the cool silk before pulling it from its hanger and shoving it inside his robe. He can’t explain how, he can’t explain why, but he feels the need to have something of hers, something tangible to hold onto after she’s home, in his home, talking to his dad. If he’d asked her for something like this she’d have probably yelled at him called him a creep.

He’d rather her robe, but she’ll be less likely to miss this one, and if she does, she’ll probably think it was Frank. He closes her wardrobe before casting one last longing look over her tent. He walks slowly to her door, and slips back out the way he came.

 

* * *

 

A numbness settles over her on her way back to camp. Margaret observes the scenery flying past with a cool detachment, as though she's not really there.

Her career is over. One night of stupidity and it's all gone. Her father will be horrified, hell, he might even wash his hands of her. Unwed, pregnant, and out of the army. What more could a proud Colonel want? The army was his life, and he'd almost been proud of her when she declared that it would be her life, too.

She's sure word will reach him soon enough, but she's got no plans to tell him. Any future prospects of marrying well are also gone. Who would want to marry a girl and her bastard child? Maybe that's part of the reason she agreed to go and stay with Hawkeye’s dad, because she can't think of any other logical one, but for some reason she trusts the idiot. Against all odds, she trusted that in this, Hawkeye had her best intentions at heart. Hers and the interests of their child, as foreign and an abstract concept as that still was. He said his dad was a kind man, that he'd be willing to help and support her, even that he'd like her, and with no proof she believed him. She believed him enough to agree that going there would be better than being alone. She must be crazier than she thought. A man with no respect for the uniform, Chief Surgeon and nurse botherer, a constant joker, yet on all of this he'd been deadly serious.

She would be living in what she assumed was his childhood home. A stranger situation was hard to imagine, though at least this way she would be spared the immediate need of looking for somewhere to call home. 

She only wished that the army would let her wait until twelve weeks, until the odds of miscarriage were lower, but the army wasn't about to wait around for any woman or her issues. Especially not a pregnancy it considered to be illegal.

When the camp comes into view and all she wants to do is hide, slip into her tent and lock the door, but that's not going to happen. There'll be discussions and paperwork, and plenty of whispered gossip, and Hawkeye. She'll have to face Hawkeye. 

Though to her vague surprise, she finds that he out of all these things is the one she dreads the least. 

She knows some will hiss behind their hands that she planned this, that she’s unpatriotic, that she did this to get out of doing her duty. What’s she supposed to say to that? That no, it was an accident? That she got drunk and slept with an army hating draftee and is now stuck carrying his child? She’s not sure which option is more embarrassing, more damaging to the reputation she’d worked so hard to build.

It’s not fair, none of this is fair. 

To her in this moment, the army had never felt more like a man’s army.

 


	6. Chapter 6

As soon as Margaret’s feet hit the dust of camp she makes a beeline for her tent. She knows she should probably report to Colonel Blake, he is her superior after all, but to hell with it. Papers were filed in Tokyo, none of it matters anymore. She’s vaguely aware she’s starting to behave like Pierce, but she stopped caring somewhere between here and Tokyo. She drops her bags unceremoniously with a thud but doesn't unpack. Again, what's the point? She'd have her travel orders in two to three days. She should be shovelling things _into_ her bags, because god only knew when they'd actually come through. Margaret manages about 30 seconds alone in her tent before someone knocks on her door. She lets out a loud sigh and goes to open it. It's either Hawkeye or Radar telling her Henry wants to see her, and she'd put money on the former.

“Who is it?”

Hawkeye’s voice sounds from the other side of the door, “It’s just me, Major.”

Of course it is. Wordlessly she stands aside to allow him entry.

It’s a long moment before either of them speaks, neither eager to even look at one another, their silence hanging between them heavy with words unsaid.

Hawkeye clears his throat, giving in to his usual compulsion to say something, anything.

“I, uh, arranged it all with dad. I'll send him your travel plans when you know what they are and he'll meet you when you get in.”

She nods awkwardly, “Thank you.”

There's another long pause before Hawkeye breaks the silence once again.

“So, how was Tokyo?”

“Oh, y’know, fine. They filed the necessary papers and I should get my travel orders in the next few days. I should go and talk to Colonel Blake.”

“Okay.”

“I'll, uh, see you around.”

He hesitates before swooping in and kissing her on the cheek. He leaves without another word.

Margaret’s left stunned, standing with her cheeks aflame. Things with him have become all emotion and no clarity. It’s all swirling tumultuously around in her head and she can make neither head nor tail of any of it. She can remember what they _were_ , she just has no idea what they _are_ , or worse, what they’ll have to be. She's trying desperately not to think about the fact that she's about to go and stay with his father, she can't stand worrying about whether it will or won't work out.

Another knock on the door brings her back to reality.

“Uh, Major Houlihan, m’am? Colonel Blake requests to see you in his office right away on account of the thing that you and Captain Pierce--”

She cuts him off before he can air any more of her dirty laundry out in the open, “Coming, Corporal.”

 

* * *

  


Trapper’s lounging on his bunk, reading when Hawkeye returns, and Frank is humming some sort of patriotic tune as he gets himself dressed.

This morning it's enough to send Hawkeye over the edge . “Get out, Frank!”

“This is my tent, and you can’t order me around, you’re only a Captain!”

“Get out, Frank, or breakfast this morning will be a knuckle sandwich.”

They stare each other down before Frank decides to leave, having detected a note of seriousness in the other man.

Hawkeye quickly pulls the kimono from his robe and shoves it in his footlocker.

Trapper watches silently,  studying his friend with a curious concern, “You okay, Hawk?”

“It’s just, why does everything have to be so complicated!”

“I presume you’re talking about your business with our soon to be ex Head Nurse?”

“Yeah, I mean, what is she to me? Nothing! We had a night together! But I can’t shake her, Trap, and the fact that she’s going home is really throwing me.”

“Well, she pregnant, and it _is_ yours.”

“Yeah, but that was an accident! It doesn't give me any right to feel like this!”

“And she’s going not going to her home, she’s going to yours.”

“But what difference does that make!”

“Maybe it’s her way of saying “maybe” to that question you haven’t asked.”

“Or maybe she’s lonely or scared, or is just going there until she finds something better, it doesn’t mean anything!”

Trapper shoots Hawkeye a dark, exasperated look, “Fine, have it your way. Here,” he says offering the only form of comfort he has left, “have a Martini.”

 

* * *

 

 

Margaret  looks around her tent, mentally taking inventory of all the things she’s managed to accumulate in her short stay. There was no way she’s going to be able take all the exotically labelled beauty products she’s accumulated with her, or her lamp. She walks over to supply and grabs an empty box and starts loading the glass bottles into it. She’s sure the nurses will find a use for them.

While packing she resolutely does not allow reality to set in. She can’t, she won’t, or she’ll turn into the teary mess she fears she’ll become. Any future she can imagine cuts off with her arriving in Hawaii on the way back.

She sighs impatiently at herself before unzipping her garment bag and opening her wardrobe. She starts pulling things out, packing all but one slip and her robe. She’ll need them between now and then.

Margaret stops and rifles through her clothes again. There’s a kimono missing. Frank. It had to have been Frank.

“Urgh, that creep!” she mutters to herself.

Frank had always liked that robe, they’d had some good times together while she’d been wearing it.

She rolls her eyes. She supposed she had better go and ask for it back, besides, he _’_ d still never returned her Doris Day scrapbook.

She finds Frank near the Mess Tent, “Major Burns.”

He sneers at her, “Oh what do you want?”

“I think you know. You’ve been in my tent, my favourite silk kimono is missing. I’d like it back, please.”

“This whole pregnancy business must be going to your head, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t believe you,” she hisses.

“I don’t have to stand here and listen to these accusations, especially not from someone like you,” he snaps.

She sputters, incredulous, voice rising in octave and tone, _“Someone like me?_ Just what do you mean by that!”

“Well it really is your own fault that you’re in this situation, sleeping with anyone, anywhen. You’re not even fit to be called a Major in the US Army!

“Says he who’s never been without a mistress, how dare you!” Margaret bursts into tears of rage. What is this, hormones? She swears she used to be better at controlling herself.

“The sooner they kick you out of here, the better, you’re a disgrace!”

Their yelling has drawn a crowd, Hawkeye and Trapper among them

“Hey,” yells Hawkeye, rounding on Frank, What’s going on here! What did you say to her!”

“Oh look, your boyfriend is here,” Frank’s tone is vicious.

Hawkeye places a hand on Margaret’s shoulder, “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” she says, nodding tightly, clenching her jaw, in an attempt to fight back another wave of  tears, but Frank’s not finished.

“You two are going to have fun when that bastard child of yours gets here!”

In one swift move Hawkeye’s fist connects with Frank’s jaw, laying him out flat in the dirt.

“Pierce!” A red faced Henry comes marching towards them, “Pierce, my office, now!”

“But Henry--”

“Now, Pierce. Make sure he hasn’t concussed Burns, will you McIntyre?”

Margaret makes lingering eye contact with Hawkeye before he turns and follows Henry. She has no idea what any of this means. Robe be damned, she’s going back to her tent.

 

* * *

 

 

“But Henry, you should have heard some of the abuse he was hurling at her.”

“Come on, Pierce, you know that playing the concerned boyfriend like that is only going to antagonise him more, though I guess she’ll be gone in a day or so, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“Concerned boyfriend! What's that supposed to mean?”

“Look, it’s alright, it's understandable, after all you did get her pregnant, that does imply some level of intimacy.”

“Haven't you never heard of a one night stand?Why does everyone assume we’re going to to be an item because she’s pregnant?”

“Well maybe because you're acting every bit like you've got feelings for her, then there's the fact that she's going to your home, not hers.”

“Can you imagine a pair of people less suited to each other?”

“Sure I can. You saw Frank and her. Hell, look at Frank and his wife.”

“Gee thanks, that's real reassuring. She and I are better than Frank Burns with anyone. So’s Radar and one of his guinea pigs.”

“Look, I'll tell Burns to stay away from Houlihan, but you also need to stop antagonising him. Is it true that you threatened to give him a knuckle sandwich if he didn't leave what is also his tent?”

“He was asking for it!”

“Look, we all know Burns is a pain in the ass, but that doesn’t mean you can go around knocking his teeth out whenever you feel like it.”

Radar sticks his head into Henry’s office, “Um, excuse me, sirs.”

“What is it, Radar?”

“Major Houlihan’s travel orders just came through, she’ll be leaving in thirty minutes.”

Hawkeye’s up from his seat and out the door before Henry can say another word.

“Dammit, Pierce,” he mumbles.

“Should I still go and tell her, sir?”

“Yeah, who knows where he's off to.”

 

* * *

 

 

It's really happening. She’s leaving. She finds herself again in the surreal haze of denial.

She never ever imagined she’d be leaving Korea like this.

When Radar had told her she had half an hour she'd raced around her tent, shoving anything she’d missed into her duffel bag, and now she stands on the chopper pad, the blades on her ride out of here slicing through the air.

Two to three days her ass. The nurses had been pleased to have some new things to play with.

Margaret looks at the group of people waiting to bid her farewell, her eyes blurring once more with tears, but really she's looking for one person in particular. She spots him standing amongst the crowd next to Trapper and Henry,

“So,” she starts, feeling like she has to say something.

“Margaret--”, he starts,  but instead of finishing what he started to say he steps forward and sweeps her into his arms. She gasps as his face makes contact with her neck. Before she can respond he pulls back to study her, before gently bracing her face with his hands and pulling her forward, kissing her forehead. For a moment she thinks he’s about to do more.

His voice cracks a little, thick with emotion, “Look, whatever happens, we’ll keep in touch, okay? I’ll be home as soon as I can, then we can sort things out--”

All she can do is nod dumbly in response, any words she might have said are lost.

“--and tell dad I said hi.”

Her mouth turns up at its corners, “I will,” she says quietly.

The chopper pilot calls out, “We’d better go, Major!”

Reluctantly she disentangles herself from Hawkeye’s grasp, jogging over to her ride.

It's over, it's all over.

None of it feels real.

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

His glass is empty and his world is wobbly, but he’s still conscious. That must count for something, but whether it's a good something or a bad something he can't decide. He squints over at the door, vaguely aware of someone entering the tent.

“Hawkeye!”

“What?” He’s drunk, but, as far as he’s concerned, not drunk enough.

Trapper walks over to check the still, trying to see if there’s any gin left in it.“You should probably stop now.”

“But I can still feel myself.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Leave me alone,” he mumbles, rolling so that his face pressed into his pillow.

Trapper moves to stand over his friend, “Hey, what's that you're holding,” Trapper inquires, tilting his head to get a better look, “it wouldn't happen to be the silk robe Frank and Hot Lips were yelling about, would it?”

“Never heard of it.”

Trapper rolled his eyes. “You're allowed to miss her, y’know.”

“Who?”

“Hawk..”

The door opens and Frank enters the tent. “Hey,” he says, narrowed eyes on Hawkeye, slowing to a stop, “that's Margaret's robe!”

Hawkeye rolls his eyes. “Really, Frank? I thought it was one of yours.”

“You’re a thief, that’s what you are. You’re a thief and she’s a whore! You two belong together!”

Hawkeye clumsily tries to get up off his bunk so that he can take a swing at Frank. “Shove off, Frank!”

“You wish!”

Trapper steps in before violence can erupt for the second time in as many days. “Get out of the tent, Frank!”

“I'm going to see Colonel Blake about this!

“You do that!” Hawkeye yells after him, sitting back down on his bed heavily. “Someone get me a pen, and some paper.”

“What for?”

“I need to write a letter.”

“To Margaret?”

“No, to dad. I need to tell him about Margaret.”

“I thought you already did.”

“He needs to know that underneath all those rules and regulations, she’s alright! What if they hate each other? What if she leaves and I never see her or our kid again?”

“She wouldn't.”

“How you know? How do I know? We barely even know her, not really. We only know her in an army setting. Are you gonna help me or not?”

“Sure, if it’ll make you feel better. Where are your writing things, in your footlocker?”

“No, over there on the shelf.”

“Right, there you go.”

“Thanks, I owe you one. Okay, here goes. “Dear dad…”

 

* * *

 

 

Her bus is already in when Daniel arrives, and the passengers are collecting their bags from the luggage hold underneath. He spots her immediately. It’s not her army uniform that gives her away, nor the olive drab bag in her hand, but the stiff way she’s holding herself, and the uncertainty in her eyes. She’s not entirely what he’d expected. She’s both bigger and smaller than he thought she'd be. She's taller, though not so much that you’d consider her tall, she’s also narrower and blonder than he’d imagined, but he can tell immediately that she’s no pushover. She’s not a traditional picture of beauty, either, but with her high cheekbones and sharp, intelligent eyes she’s definitely something. Daniel steps out of the crowd and into her line of sight as she reaches the gate.

“Margaret?”

“Yes, sir. You’re Daniel Pierce, I presume?”

“The one and only. Welcome to Maine.”

“Thank you, sir.”

She’s very official, he notes, very formal, though that fitted in with her being the fabled “Hot Lips” who used to go around with Frank Burns. There was obviously more to her, though, or none of this would be happening.

“Have you ever been to Maine before?”

“I haven't. We travelled around a lot when I was a child, followed dad wherever he was posted, but never here."

“Guess there's not much army happening in Maine. You got much luggage?”

“Just this and my duffle bag.”

“The army really has you travelling light, huh.”

Margaret nods curtly but says no more.

This one was really going to need some warming up. She doesn’t seem rude, however, just careful, closed, wary. Possibly not used to kindness? He didn't know, but he also didn't get the impression that this is the kind of woman who’d be here if she didn’t want to be.

“Car’s this way, then it’s about an hour’s drive home to the cove. It really is pretty out there at this time of year, I hope you like it.”

“Oh I’m sure I will,” she says, her voice still giving away little.

He wasn’t perturbed, though, more intrigued. She was a puzzle, this whole thing was a puzzle, and he was quite interested to find out how it all fitted together.

 

* * *

 

 

The car ride home is a mostly silent affair. Margaret takes in the sights out the window. The world is out there is made of shades of green, and a lot of the buildings she's seen have very European stylings. Daniel tries a few times to start conversation, but doesn't push it when it falls flat. She can feel him watching her, quietly analysing her. His son isn't the only one with observant eyes. There’s a lot about him that’s familiar: some mannerisms, the colour his eyes, but he has a quietness about him, a patience, a stillness, that Hawkeye hasn’t mastered. They drive in silence for what feels like an age as she stares out the side window. Daniel silently navigates the road ahead.

Turning his head to look at her he asks, “Are you okay?”

The question catches her completely off guard, and without warning she crumbles, a quiet sob breaking free.

Daniel takes one look at her before pulling over to the side of the road.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s gonna be alright, shhh." He reaches over and tentatively puts a comforting hand on her back.

“This isn’t quite what you had planned, is it?”

Tearfully she shakes her head at him.

“I know it can’t be easy dealing with all of this unknown, but if there’s anything I can do to make it easier for you, you let me know, alright?”

She nods uselessly at him, slightly bewildered at the stark contrast between Hawkeye’s father and her own.

Daniel takes her hand and gives it a quick squeeze, before reaching into his pocket to fetch her a clean handkerchief. “Are you hungry at all? Because I was thinking we might stop somewhere for food on the way back to the house. Does that sound okay?”

The beginnings of a watery but genuine smile graces Margaret’s lips.

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

 

* * *

 

 

The mood in the Officer’s club is subdued, and Henry isn’t feeling a whole lot perkier. They’re down one excellent head nurse and had a head surgeon who’d been trying to pickle himself in gin ever since she’d left. Henry looks up when Trapper sits down at the bar next to him, his expression glum.

“How's he holding up?”

“He drank the still dry.”

“Damn. Has anyone tried telling him that if he pickles his liver he won’t be much good to Margaret _or_ their kid? Gosh that’s weird, isn't it, saying “their kid” referring to those two.”

“Uhuh, who'd have thunk it: Hawkeye and Hot Lips making a baby.”

“It’ll be terrifying. Imagine a kid like both of them.”

“No thanks. With their combined willpower it’ll probably try to take over the world.”

Henry chuckles before sobering. “Did he really try to punch Frank again? I had Burns in my office before yelling about Pierce threatening him.”

“He did, but to be fair, Frank had just accused him of being a thief and insulted Margaret.”

“Never thought I’d see the day Pierce was defending her against Burns. He seems to really care about her, doesn't he.”

“He does. He's over there driving himself nuts worrying that she and his dad won't get along, and that she'll disappear with the kid.”

“The Major may be terrifying, but I doubt she'd do that to him.”

“Me either. I’m amazed that she agreed to go and stay with his dad in the first place.”

“It is unlike her, though I'm beginning to feel like there's a lot we never knew about her. Maybe she likes him too, they seemed to be pretty damned into each other when they got into this mess.” Henry sighs. “Do you think Pierce will be okay? Because the last thing I wanna have to do is have him shipped home because he’s unable to do his job.”

“I'm not sure. We’re gonna have to keep an eye on him.”

“How’s this: We’ll give him another week, and if he's still like this I'll call Sidney.”

“And we should probably move Frank out of the Swamp, Because if Hawkeye doesn’t kill him for all the garbage he's throwing around, I might.”

“Okay, we’ll find Burns somewhere else to live.”

“Thanks, Henry.”

Henry’s left once more to his own devices and takes a deep sigh, swigging his beer.

This was not the kind of chaos he’d been expecting when he’d signed up for this job.

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

It’s dark when Margaret wakes, the light from the moon illuminating the room gently from behind the curtains. The springs in the old bed creak and groan as she leans over to the bedside table to find her watch. By the muted light she can just make out the time: 3.10am. Her body showing signs of confusion at being rudely ripped out one time zone and dumped into another. She lays back and stares at the shadows on the ceiling. It’s still surreal that she’s in Maine in the home of Hawkeye Pierce, and even moreso that he is not. She’s glad she chose this, glad that she didn’t follow her normal instincts of trying to strike out on her own. Daniel Pierce is such a kind and gentle man and, considering the circumstances, she doesn’t think she could have done any better.

Margaret pulls back the covers, her feet making contact with the cool, wooden floor as she gets out of bed. She puts on her robe, pulling tightly around herself against the night air.

She’s restless and a little dizzy. She doesn’t know how much of that is jet lag, or what being pregnant might be doing to her body at this early stage. It still doesn’t feel real.

She quietly pads out of her room and into the carpeted hallway and peers into what must be Hawkeye’s room.

It’s eerily still and quiet for a room that belongs to someone so full of life. Dusty medical textbooks sit on his bedside table, a dirty magazine sticking out from between them. She snorts in amusement. Typical. The rest of the room is plain but functional. A desk and a shelf of barely organised books. She sits down on the edge of his bed and stares out of his window. The moon is almost full, reflecting brightly across the ocean.

She wonders how he’s doing, whether they’re in the O.R up to their elbows in guts, what the new head nurse is like, whether she’s as good as her.

She misses him. She misses them all, she misses feeling like she’s part of something, that she’s serving a greater good.

She misses him. She doesn’t dare dwell on that thought, instead getting up and silently heading downstairs. She needed a drink.

She’s startled by a voice at the bottom of the stairs.

“Are you okay, my dear?”

Margaret jumps, her hand flying to her heart.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. I heard you moving about up there and was wondering if everything was alright.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It's quite alright, I'm a light sleeper. Shall I make us a cup of tea?”

“Oh, I don't want to make you tired as well.”

“Nonsense. I'm just happy to have someone to share my house with again. It's been mighty lonely since Hawk left for Korea. Come sit yourself down in the living room and I'll put the kettle on. There's a blanket on the arm of the sofa if you're cold.”

Margaret wanders into the living room slightly dazedly and sits down on a well worn leather sofa, shivering at the contact with the cool surface. She hesitates before pulling the woollen blanket across her lap.

Her father would never do any of this. None of it. He'd never be this warm and caring with his own child, let alone someone else's. She briefly allows herself to wonder what her life would have been like with a father like Daniel Pierce. Unrecognisable.

She loves her father, she's spent her whole life trying to earn his approval, but there's no way he's going to be warm and accepting about the situation she’s found herself in. The army is his life, and the day she told him it would also be hers was the closest to proud she's ever seen him.

“Here we are, sweetheart.”

Daniel comes back into the room carrying a tray with a pot of tea on it and some cinnamon toast.

“I thought you might be hungry, too.”

“Thank you, that's very kind of you.”

“Like I said, no trouble. I'm just happy to have some company around this old place. It's just been Hawk and myself since my wife died, and then the army came knocking.” Daniel places the tray on the coffee table and then sits down on a chair opposite Margaret.

Margaret had never fully considered what it must feel like to have your only family sent to war. “What happened to your wife, if you don't mind me asking?”

“Cancer. Poor Hawkeye was only ten at the time.”

“Oh my, that's awful.”

“It was. But enough about us, how are you holding up?”

“Oh I'm fine, I think.”

Daniel smiles at her, “You think?”

“Other than being wide awake at this hour, I'm a little dizzy and nauseous, but I presume that’s the jetlag.”

“Sounds to me like you’re experiencing some of the symptoms of early pregnancy.”

Margaret stares at him blankly for a long moment before responding. “It still doesn’t feel real.”

“That’s understandable. It must have been quite the shock.”

“Ha, that’s an understatement. I mean, I’d always assumed I’d have children, but not like this. Especially not with Pierce. _Hawkeye._ ” she corrects herself.

Daniel chuckles, “I was under the impression that you two didn’t exactly get along.”

“We don’t. We didn’t. I don’t know what we do anymore.” Margaret looks away, uncomfortable. “I always thought I’d marry a West Pointer, army brass. Someone to make my dad proud. I haven’t told him about this, yet, I don’t dare.” When she looks back at Daniel her eyes are filled with tears. She whispers, “He’s going to be so disappointed in me.”

Daniel watches her, eyes filled with concern. “My dear, I’ve only known you for a very short time, but you strike me as a marvellously bright, competent woman, and Hawk mentioned several times even in his very early letters what a talented and dedicated nurse you are. If your father chooses to let what’s happened colour his view of a daughter he should be brimming with pride for, then it’s possible he doesn’t deserve a daughter like you.”

“I worshipped him. Ever since I was a little girl I looked up to him, I wanted nothing more than to make him happy. But then I--I lost control,” she gulps, choking on her tears, “I spent the night, one night, with an army hating, rule-breaking, authority challenging, incredibly talented draftee doctor- someone who I’m not even supposed to like, and yet...and yet here I am.” Margaret gesticulates in frustration.

“Well, I know it’s not quite the same, but no matter what happens, you’re always welcome here.”

“Thank you.”

Daniel gets up from his seat. “Now, where’s that tea. I’d almost forgotten about it. Here, have some toast before it gets too cold.”

 

* * *

 

Later when Margaret’s safely back in bed Daniel takes some time to ruminate. He’s pleasantly surprised by how much he likes her already. From his son’s descriptions he thought she’d be harder, more severe, far more defensive. He certainly hadn’t expected her to open up like she had. Intentional or not, he was finding it hard to be displeased by the way things were turning out. _A grandchild._ It was still too early in the pregnancy to count his chickens on that front, but Daniel was finding hard to wipe the smile from his face. Before the war he'd been wondering if Hawkeye would ever find a woman who he couldn't charm into submission, and here was one such woman. Their relationship didn't seem to be clearly or comfortably defined, but Daniel didn't was unable to squash the small ray of hope he had that these two would work things out.


	9. Chapter 9

 

It's been a week and a half since she’d left, and four days since he's bothered changing his shorts. Trapper’s stopped re-stocking the still because he was drinking it all and he hasn't got the will to do it himself. Hawkeye doesn't leave his bunk unless he absolutely has to. He's sick of the wary glances thrown his way, and he can't stand the new head nurse. As far as he's concerned, she's what nothing would be like if it was a person. She's average at her job, has an average personality and average looks, and the few jokes he's tried out on her were met with blank looks. He misses Margaret. He'd even take the Margaret he'd met on his first day here. She'd been appalled by him, probably even offended. All that scolding, ordering and threatening and yelled, but she’d at least been interesting. Very good at her job, too, which had been a lot more than he’d been expecting.

A knock on the tent door roused him from his thoughts.“Whatever you want, I can assure you I'm not worth the time.”

“That's not what I heard.” Sidney says, letting himself in.

“What are you doing here?”

“I heard you'd been having a tough time.”

“What, so that automatically means I need my head read? Who was it, Trapper or Henry?”

“They're worried about you.”

“Yeah, well tell them to keep their worried to themselves.”

“What's it like without Major Houlihan here?”

“It's great, fantastic. One less regular army clown to yell at.”

“Is that so? ‘Cause the way I heard it is that you've been feeling pretty lousy since she shipped out.”

“Oh, you mean all this drinking? Nah, this is just part of my month long celebration.”

“So this has nothing to do with the fact that she shipped out home to your place to live with your dad, or the fact that the you got her pregnant?”

Hawkeye pointedly looks in the opposite direction.

“Maybe you feel slightly guilty that you're here where she wants to be, or maybe you're even jealous that she's now exactly where you want to be. Or maybe, just maybe, you miss her.”

Sidney can tell he's hit a nerve.

“Miss her? Why should I miss her? We're enemies. She and I have never agreed on anything.”

“And yet you both agreed on the fact that she should go and stay with your father.”

“She's only there to get a bit of help, but you wait, as soon as she’s back on her feet she'll be off into the sunset.”

“Ah, so this is about the fact that you're stuck over here with feelings for her and you have no idea what she's going to do.”

“Feelings? What feelings? Besides, even if I did, there's no point having them.”

“Why not? You're obviously something to her or she wouldn’t be in Maine.”

“She went there because I told her dad would help her, and why would someone like her be interested in me? Hell, why am I interested in her?”

“Sometimes people just get under your skin. You two had a pretty good back and forth going, even if it was mostly arguing, but you both kept coming back for more, and then some. Besides, when has Margaret Houlihan accepted help from just anybody? She obviously trusts you, but I suspect there’s more to it than that. Write to her, try to keep the channels of communication open.”

“What the hell am I meant to say to her?”

“You’ll think of something. In the meantime, try hitting a little less of the sauce, it'll make things easier.”

“Yeah yeah…” Hawkeye mutters, but his mind is churning things over. He's not about to admit it, but he knows Sidney’s right about one thing, the thing Trapper had tried to tell him before: Margaret would never have gone to Maine if she hadn't wanted to. If she was going to slink away into the night she surely would have just skipped that step. He hoped. He could only hope. He wanted to believe, but the price of being wrong was high.

 

* * *

 

 

“Is he going to be okay, Sidney?” Henry asks, wearing strain and concern on his face.

“Well that depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether he wants to be. Right now he has a heady mix of guilt, jealousy, and self recrimination, with a dash of loneliness. Those two shared a connection, however brief, but it was real and palpable, and now she's not just thousands of miles away with his only family, but growing a new one that he doesn't know when or if  even if he'll ever get to see.”

Henry mulls this over. “I mean, my wife had a baby while I've been over here. It's been rough at times, I’m not gonna lie, but I'm not freaking out over it.”

“This is Hawkeye we’re talking about, his emotions live fairly close to the surface with nothing but humour as a shield. You also know where you stand. You remember why and how you fell in love, you had a courtship, a marriage. He's still conflicted about how and why himself and the Major ended up in bed together in the first place. It's all up in the end and he's too far away to see how it's gonna fall, and he's too worried about it to even notice that some pieces have already started to fall in his favour.

I've told him he needs to start writing to her, but we’ll see how he goes. Let me know how he goes.”

“Thanks, Sidney.”

  


* * *

 

 

There’s a growing pile of scrunched up paper in the corner of The Swamp with each failed attempt at writing a letter. Hawkeye scrunches up yet another failed attempt and lobs it at Frank’s former bunk. Part of him wishes that moron was sitting there, then he might wrap some rocks in all that paper and _then_ throw it. Frank wouldn’t even notice, they’d be right at home with all the other rocks in that idiot's head. Hawkeye sighs loudly, making a tutting sound at himself as he rolls his eyes. He was going to have to just go with one of these sometime soon or he was going to run out of paper.

 

_Dear Margaret,_

_It's been real quiet around here since you've gone. The new head nurse couldn't be any more dull if she tried. She’s an average looking average person with an average personality who has average skills in the OR and doesn't understand the concept of joking. You understood, though you usually didn't approve, but I'd take being told off by you any day. Frank is still trying to be regular army Jesus, only he's not living in The Swamp any more. Henry moved him out because he was aggravating my anger issues and said if I threatened Frank one more time I'd be in a lot of trouble. It's not my fault I have a very itchy fist that can only be soothed by connecting violently with a Frank Burns._

_I hope Maine and dad are treating you well,_

 

_Hawkeye_

 

He stares at the paper for a full minute before putting it in an envelope. It’ll do. It’s not quite what he wants, whatever it is that might be, but then other than climbing into the envelope and mailing himself it’s the best he can do. Hawkeye scrawls down her name and then his address and pauses again to appreciate this moment in the spirit of the surreal.

Margaret in Maine.

He was feeling positively possessive and he had no idea what to do about it.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers. I’ll be moving to updating this every two weeks from now on (and possibly every three weeks if I need to, but hopefully I won’t). I’ve had less writing time lately, and writing out phase two of this story is taking a little longer than I’d like!

 

Margaret woke up and groaned. She'd been feeling constantly queasy for weeks now and it was showing no sign of letting up. _Who’s idea was this getting pregnant business anyway? Oh yeah, nobody’s._ That in itself was at the top of the list of ways her body had betrayed her and was followed by a litany of other complaints. Some days she had a brief window in the afternoon of feeling a little better, but often not at all. Her body so far hadn’t even allowed her the satisfaction of throwing up.

Daniel had been trying to help by making her different things for breakfast each morning, but each time they’d been rejected. She felt guilty and completely useless. To her there was nothing worse than not even being able to try to pull her own weight.

This morning she hadn't even bothered trying to get out of bed. She'd slipped from her army regulation habit getting up for a 5am breakfast to wallowing around in bed at 8am feeling sorry for herself. She didn’t even have the energy to be disgusted with herself.

It’s no surprise when she hears a gentle knock on her door. He was probably wondering where she was. She raises her bleary, tousled head just as Daniel tentatively opens her door.

His face is wrinkled in concern. “You okay, Margaret?”

“Ohhhh I feel terrible,” she groans, “but that's nothing new.”

“ That’s no good. I've brought you a cup of tea just in case you feel like drinking anything. We don't want dehydration making you feel even worse.”

He was right, she knew. She was going to have to make an effort.

“Thank you,” she grinds out whilst gulping down hard on a wave of nausea. She attempts to sit up if only to make a show of attempting the tea. It was strange having someone dote upon her like this. Here was this kind, gentle man, and all she could feel was guilt.

Her earliest memory was one of her fending for herself. Daniel, on the other hand, seemed to genuinely enjoy having someone to look after. After a lifetime of forced self sufficiency, she was finding this difficult to adjust to.

“I should get out of bed.”

“Nonsense. You of all people have earned the right to rest. Listen to your body, try to let it have what it needs. The world’s not going anywhere.”

She nods curtly, feeling her jaw clench.

Clearly sensing her mood Daniel  decides to take his leave, “Sing out if you need anything,” he says softly as he heads for the door.

She bids him thanks, sighing in relief as her door clicks shut.

It’s not that she doesn’t appreciate what he’s doing for her, but she can't handle company, not now.

Her stomach rolls at the smell of the tea when she picks it up. She takes a deep breath, bracing herself before taking a small mouthful of the sweet liquid. She gulps it down before she can change her mind. It tastes wrong, all wrong, but so has everything she’s eaten in the last week. Margaret holds herself very still, willing her body to accept

She bolts for the door, stumbling up the short, hallway to the bathroom as it all comes back up, lurching herself into position just in time. She wipes her mouth, flopping into a sitting position on the floor.

Today was not her day.

 

* * *

 

 

Daniel’s busy pottering around in the kitchen when he hears Margaret run to the bathroom. He starts moving to go and offer her help but stops, thinking better of it. She doesn’t seem to want it at the moment. He’d been pleasantly surprised at how quickly she’d started to open up upon her arrival. They’d spoken a few times about her father, a little about camp and what she missed most about it, and then he’d look on slightly amused as she’d skirted around the topic of Hawkeye with a startled expression and wide eyes. How they’d ended up here he’d love to know. He could probably just write to Hawk and ask him, but he imagined the response he got back would depend heavily on what mood he was in. It was obvious from Hawk’s first letter home after the fact that that he cared about her. Hell, looking back there’d been hints a long time before that, but it had always been hard to tell whether or not his son had been joking. It looked like not.

The harder things became for Margaret, however, the more she’d retreated back into herself, and the more evident her discomfort at having someone do things for her became. It was becoming clearer every day that he and her parents probably wouldn’t see eye to eye on much. Independence was one thing, but this felt like something more than that. He supposed all he could do was sit back quietly and make sure she was looking after herself. He was also going to have an undoubtedly uncomfortable discussion about her marital status.

An old friend of his had had a quiet word with him while he was out on his rounds yesterday, saying that there had been all kinds of rumours going around, ranging from some that hit pretty close to the truth of the matter to the more ridiculous ones that she was _his_ mistress. Small town gossips, big gossips. There wasn’t always a whole lot else to do.

He’d been doing some thinking and come up with a plan that might rectify the situation, but he wasn’t quite sure how she was going to take it. He was going to offer her his wife’s rings. That way she at least had the option to say was Hawkeye’s wife or somesuch. It was up to her, but he wanted to try and alleviate at least some of the problems this limbo she’d been left in.

 

He doesn’t see her again until a couple of hours later when she gingerly makes her way downstairs.

“I’ve just finished making lunch, would you like some?”

“I’d guess I’d better at least try.”

He smiles, “Good girl. Will you sit with me while you eat? There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

She looks at him, puzzled, trepidatious.

“It’s okay, it’s nothing bad. Well, nothing too bad. It was brought to my attention yesterday that the town gossips have been getting a bit carried away talking about you and who you might be. Some of the more idiotic among them have even suggested that you’re my mistress.”

Margaret opens her mouth to say something, but closes it again when no sound comes out.

“Now this isn’t the perfect solution,” he says, drawing out an old, ring box from the pocket of his pants, “but I was wondering whether you’d like to wear my wife’s wedding and engagement ring. That way you’d be able to deflate their gossipy bubbles and tell them whatever you want.”

“I--I can’t--”

“It’s okay, you can, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Very tentatively, her eyes meet his. She looks almost pained. “I’d appreciate that, thank you.”

Daniel hands them over to her. “I have a sneaking suspicion these might have ended up yours anyway, just under slightly different circumstances.”

Margaret scoffs, “Not if I hadn’t ended up pregnant.”

“Oh I don’t know, seems to me there’s a little more cooking between you two than just a baby.”

Margaret’s incredulous. “Us? Married? We’re about as far from ideal as you can get!”

“Just the hunch of an old man,” he says, face brimming with mischief. “You know, in some ways you remind me a lot of him. Strong, passionate stubborn, pigheaded, kind, _defensive,_ skilled at pretending you’re not vulnerable. I think you two could make a go of it if you wanted to.”

“If _I_ wanted to?”

“You, as in, both of you.”

 Margaret pauses, staring at him as she tries to figure out how to respond, before she finally exclaims, “I don’t believe you. Besides, he hasn’t even written to me yet!”

“Oh give it time, he will.”

“How can you be so sure?”

He doesn’t answer, instead smiling before tucking into his sandwich, feeling her narrowed eyes on him.

She mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “Pierces…” before taking a bite of her own.

They eat lunch in a semi comfortable silence before Margaret eventually excuses herself, heading back upstairs with a glass of water and Daniel makes short work of clearing the table.

He's looking forward to her starting to feel more comfortable again, but she took the ring discussion far better than he'd been anticipating. Daniel also notes with amusement how readily she'd risen to the occasion of a good tease.

He'd definitely be filing that knowledge away for future use.


	11. Chapter 11

 

Margaret’s back upstairs in the safety of her own solitude before she realises it never even occurred to her to ask Daniel about his wife or what she was like, or even her name. She’d been in such a hurry to escape before any questions arose that she didn’t want to answer. Mercifully lunch seems to be staying put. She doesn’t know why, but she’s not about to question it.

She’s not enjoying how disconcerted she feels as parts of her body that she’d considered constants prove that they, too, are changing. It’s like she’s somehow not allowed to keep or hold onto any of what used to be normal.

So far she doesn’t have much to show for it, either.

All she sees when she looks in the mirror is someone who looks increasingly bloated as her belly continues to gradually round out a little more than it used to. Her breasts, however, are far more impressive than they were.

Hawkeye would be thrilled. He’d paid them enough attention that night as it was. The night that changed it all.

Ever so slowly it was starting to sink in that she was going to be a mother. It was a huge responsibility, perhaps even bigger than that of being head nurse, and the fact that it was going to be a little person that was part her, part Hawkeye Pierce felt both stranger and more normal than she would have imagined possible.

Margaret stills from unconsciously fingering the rings, only just realising what she’d been doing.

It’s possible that absence has made the heart grow fonder, but it’s also possible that it’s merely changed her perspective enough to let certain truths come up to the surface.

She’s not sure how, she’s not sure why, but she’s fairly certain that some of the dull, throbbing emotion she sometimes feels in her chest is because she misses him. She continues to run a finger over the rings Daniel’s just given her, stopping to look at them properly for the first time. They’re both fairly simple in design, but the engagement ring in particular is beautiful. It’s a silvery metal with a dark blue stone set in amongst some simple fretwork, and the effect is stunning. Tentatively she slips both rings onto her ring finger, pausing to study the results. They fit well, especially considering they weren’t made for her. Her ever-present emotions rush to the fore, making her eyes sting.

Maybe, just maybe, when all said and done, she wouldn’t mind actually becoming Mrs B.F Pierce. Again, she’s about to tell herself she doesn’t know why, that none of this makes sense, only it does. It does if she allows herself to be honest with herself, just for a second. Despite his rejection of order, his disdain for the army, authority, brass, and her best judgement, she’d been at least a little drawn him right from the start. If not from day one, then day two. Once she’d gotten past the initial shock at his antics, part of her had found him funny, part of her had even wanted to flirt back, to give in and let those capable hands of his show her the good time she suspected they were capable of providing, but that was un-military. She’d often admired his skill and integrity, his dedication, and even his bravery. For all his talk of being a coward, he’d often displayed more courage than anyone else there.

She’d noticed then but had always held herself back. He was un-military. He was everything her father had ever said a good man wasn’t.

But now, stripping away the brass, the rank, the army, everything she’d been told, Hawkeye Pierce was a good man. He was someone she admired and respected, someone she was quite possibly falling a little bit in love with. There, she’d admitted it to herself: _She_ was falling in love with that particular _he. It’s probably just hormones,_ or that’s what she tries to tell herself, but she’s no longer completely convinced. Though whether she believed Daniel’s view on his son’s feelings was another matter.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Some time later the mail arrives. Daniel’s surprised when he’s handed a small stack of letters. A bill for something, a letter for each of them in Hawk’s handwriting, and a second letter addressed to Margaret in an unfamiliar hand. He flips the envelope over. _Ah._ It looked like Colonel Houlihan had figured out where his daughter was.

“Margaret,” he calls up the staircase, “mail for you!”

She’s frowning when she appears.

“There’s one here from Hawkeye, and one from a Colonel Alvin Houlihan.”

She blanches, all colour leaving her cheeks.

“It can’t be that bad, can it?”

But she doesn’t respond, instead moving to the lounge. Daniel blinks before shrugging to himself to himself, surprised. He’d assumed she’d just retreat back upstairs, but apparently not. He follows her into the lounge, gently asking, “Mind if I join you?”

“No, not at all,” she says, her voice shaking slightly.

She looks lost, staring blankly at both envelopes in her hand, before lifting her gaze to meet his. “I don’t know where to begin,” she says letting out a half chuckle, half sob.

“How about Hawkeye?” he says, giving her a reassuring grin.

She nods, giving a small twitch of her lips, and goes about tearing open her letter.

Daniel does the same, but after reading the first line he goes and re-checks the postmark on the stamp. _Huh._ His letter must’ve taken the long way home.

 

_Dear Dad,_

_It's only been a day since Margaret left camp, and it turns out I miss her more than I thought I would. She and I aren’t anything, not officially, and for some reason that bothers me._

_I’m guessing you’ll be meeting her real soon. She can be tough, our Margaret, but don’t let that hard exterior fool you. For all she likes to pretend otherwise, there is a human being in there somewhere. I know, I’ve seen it once or twice. She’s not one for showing vulnerability. I don’t think her family were that big on showing love and care. From what little I know, they measure value by rank in the army rather than human decency._

_The new head nurse arrived today, and she’s more dull than Henry’s facial expression when someone asks him a tough question, which hardly makes this any better._

_I’ve gotta go now, dad, Trapper’s in here hovering around like I need a babysitter._

_Say hi to Margaret for me. I’ve tried folding myself up in all kinds of ways, but I still can’t seem to fit myself in the envelope._

 

_Your son, as always,_

_Hawkeye_

 

“Ah Hawk,” he mutters to himself as he folds the letter and places it back in its envelope. The letter itself is yet more evidence of his son’s feelings for the young lady sitting across from him. For Hawk to be concerned and not just outright glib spoke volumes. He wondered how he was holding up the fact that anyone was hovering over him meant that a few chinks in his armour were probably showing. There was no doubt alcohol was involved. He wondered what Hawk would think about the fact that Margaret was wearing his mother’s rings.

Daniel looks up to see how Margaret is going. She's swatting tears away from her eyes.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

She looks up at him with surprised eyes. He hasn't called her that in a while, but after Hawkeye’s letter it seems fitting.

“Oh I’m fine, thank you.” But her tears say otherwise.

“Hawk says to tell you hi, but looks like he’s managed to do that himself already. This one took the long way home,” he says, holding his letter up. “How’s he doing?”

She shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant. “Oh y’know, he doesn’t like the new head nurse and him and Frank Burns aren’t getting along.”

Daniel grins. “That last part isn’t that unusual, though, is it.”

“Nor the first part.”

“From what I hear the reports have been greatly exaggerated.”

“Yeah, well,” she scoffs

“So, have you come up with an official story to go with the rings?”

She blushes. “I figured it’d probably be best to stick closest to the truth,” she snorts, “at least that way people will have less to talk about when the baby comes out with dark hair and looking like a Pierce.” Margaret eyes him with the warily, not quite sure what to expect next.

Daniel grins at her, gently teasing, “Who’s to say it won't look like a Houlihan?”

Margaret scoffs “Somehow I doubt it.”

The mood sobers as Margaret glances over to the unopened letter from her father, and Daniel decides to change the subject. “Hawk was worried, y’know, about how you and I would get along. He sent this before you arrived here asking me to be patient with you if I needed to be.”

“Your son is a good man,” she says quietly but evenly, slowly bringing her eyes up to meet his. The wariness is still there along with the sheen of tears, but they also hold steely determination. Again, he can see how she became the fabled and fearsome head nurse described in Hawkeye’s letters.

“You guys are going to have one hell of a kid.”

Margaret’s face is instantly incredulous. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, you’re both fine human beings,” Daniel says, blue eyes twinkling, “ and besides, you said it was going to look like a Pierce.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Margaret stays downstairs chatting to until she can stand it no longer. The layers of paper in her hand weighing heavier on her mind with every passing moment until she makes her excuses and retreats. Daniel knows, judging by the sympathetic look he gives her. He knows. He knows of the heavy blow no doubt awaiting her still encased in its envelope. Much like Hawkeye the man doesn’t miss a trick. She scans him for signs of judgement but finds none.

 

Once alone in her room she settles herself onto her bed, trying desperately to damp down on the feeling of dread threatening to overwhelm her as she finally tears open the envelope.

 

 

_Margaret,_

_I was chatting to Colonel Mulligan in Tokyo the other day when he asked me how I felt now that my daughter was no longer in the army. I, of course, had no idea what he was talking about. I then had the displeasure of finding out from him that you’d been discharged because you were pregnant._

_Pregnant! To some draftee doctor from Maine with enough blemishes on his record to earn him a dishonourable discharge! I Then had to degrade myself further and ask him if he knew where you’d gone! Harold then tells me you’re hiding out in Maine with that lowlife’s family like a coward. To think that a daughter of mine would do such a thing, I have never been so humiliated in all my life! You could have at least had the decency to stick to Generals - Don’t think I don’t know how many of them you’ve had through your quarters with you behaving like a regular army tart!_

 

_I hope you enjoy lying in this bed you’ve made for yourself, Margaret._

 

_Yours,_

_Colonel Alvin Houlihan_

 

Margaret lets out a shaky breath, tears forming as the weight of the words settle over her. She's sick to death of crying, but lately there’s been so much to bear.


	12. Chapter 12

 

 _Dear Hawkeye,_   


_It feels incredibly strange writing you a letter like this, but I suppose it's no more strange than this situation we find ourselves in._   
_How's life at the 4077th? I miss being busy and having a purpose, I miss being a part of things. Feeling nauseous while I slowly expand is so tame in comparison._   
_I can see why you miss this place, it's beautiful, however I'm sure it's more exciting when you're here to break the ice. The townspeople seem friendly, but so far they seem to regard me as little more than a curiosity. Later on when I'm feeling a little better your father has kindly offered to take me to meet some of his friends, so we’ll see how that turns out._   
_I hope everything’s okay where you are._   
  
_Yours truly,_   
  
_Margaret_   


 

* * *

 

 

_Dear Hawkeye,_

 

_What were you doing that made Trapper decide you needed a babysitter? I hope you’re looking after yourself, son._

_Sorry for not writing to you sooner, your letter must have got lost in the mail because it arrived at the same time as the one you wrote to Margaret. She’s doing okay. Some days she’ll open up and we’ll have a chat about the army or you or her father, but she retreats again pretty quickly._

_She responds fairly well to some good natured teasing, however._

_I'm starting to get a vague sense of how you two connected with each other. You draw her out and she snaps back. You always were a sucker for a girl who could hold her own. Remember Patty Smith when you were in fourth grade? I can’t remember why she set your locker on fire, but I’ve got no doubt you were asking for it._

_I’m not sure what your intentions are in regards to marrying her (though I’m of the strong opinion that you should ask her to do so), but I’ve given her your mother’s rings to wear in an attempt to stave off the rumour mill, as some of the speculation about who she is and why she’s here was starting to get out of hand._

_She decided that it would be best to tell people that you two got married in Korea, that way it’s not too much of a stretch as to why she’s living with me or why the baby might come out looking suspiciously like you._

_The poor girl got a letter from her father the other day. I’m not sure what was in it, I haven’t asked, but she looked miserable. I’m glad you sent her to me, Hawk. If I ever see that Colonel Houlihan I’ll be giving him a piece of my mind._

_Stay safe, son._

 

_Love,_

_Dad_

 

* * *

 

 

_Dear Margaret,_

 

_Glad to know you got there okay. I’ll bet dad is trying to spoil you rotten. I’d do anything right now for one of his home cooked meals right now, even a bad one._

_I’m sorry you’re feeling rotten. It must be pretty bad to take down someone who’s had first class training in nausea tolerance courtesy of the mess tent here at the 4077th._

_Frank’s been in fine form since you left. Not only has be been moved out of The Swamp “for his own safety”, but he’s also been attempting to put the moves on your replacement. Thankfully, though, she’s not one to discriminate with her dull and has smiled politely at him on more than one occasion._

_Part of me wishes you were still here because life was better when you were here to give it orders, but mostly I’m glad that you’re safely somewhere with decent living conditions._

_Speaking of you not being here, when are we expecting impending parenthood to develop into a full blown case of baby? Just so I have a specific date to throw all my worries at._

 

_Your South Korean correspondent,_

_Hawkeye_

 

* * *

 

 

_Dear Dad,_

 

_How’s the weather over there? I’m only asking because it’s starting to get warm here, which means roasting season is around the corner. If it’s not trying to freeze us, it’s trying to cook us. Maybe the whole country is sick of this war and is trying to get rid of us. I wish the clowns in charge of this circus would listen to it and send us home._

_You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that you and Margaret don’t hate each other._

_It’s great that you’ve managed to get Margaret to open up a little. By the time I get out of here you’ll know her better than I will. If the war stank before, it’s positively rancid now. Our kid will probably be in high school before I get out of here._

_Who'd have thunk it, Margaret Houlihan voluntarily going around telling people she's married to me._ _  
_ _Though to be honest that idea is less strange to me than it was.I'm not sure what happened, dad. Whether it's the sudden distance, our current situation or something else entirely, but I have feelings for her, and they seem to be getting deeper. What do you think she'd do if I really asked her to marry me, run a mile or laugh herself stupid? I'm having a hard time getting my head around it all. When did I start feeling like this? How did we get here? I wonder if she has any idea, because I sure as hell don't._

_The other night in an attempt to cheer me up Trapper organised a date for me with one of the new nurses. I was so mad when I found out, dad. I yelled so loud Henry almost called the MP’s._

_As far as he was concerned I'm not married to Margaret so am free to do whoever I like. Hell, he's married and he still does whoever he pleases, but it felt wrong. It felt really wrong._

_Oh, and forget giving Margaret's dad a talking to, I’ll give him a knuckle sandwich._

 

_Hawkeye_

 

* * *

 

 

_Dear Hawkeye,_

_Time here seems to be be passing both quickly and very slowly and, if the dates in my calendar are correct, then that means I’m now 15 weeks pregnant. You can tell we didn’t plan this, the baby’s due mid January, the middle of winter! Your dad has arranged with one of his friends for me to go and stay in Bridgton a little before that time just in case we get snowed in. I've never lived this far away from a hospital before._

_I must say that I’m mighty relieved to be past the 12 week point and into lower risk territory. I don’t know what I would have done had I been sent home only to lose the baby as well. Your dad gave me a checkup the other day and says everything is fine._

_I’m not used to living somewhere so quiet. Now that my nausea seems to have passed I'm at a bit of a loss as to what to do with myself. I’m slowly reading myself through the books in the living room but I’m just not used to having time to myself, or sitting still for that matter._

_Maybe I should do something more productive, like knitting a few clothes or blankets, but it’s hardly nursing._

 

_See if you can trip Frank over for me, preferably next to one of the puddles outside the latrine,_

 

_Margaret_

 

* * *

 

 

_Dear Hawkeye,_

 

_No roasting weather over here, just lots of boiling, and that’s for the lobsters. Took Margaret to the Lobster Festival last weekend and she had a great time. I’ve gotta see about sending you a photograph of her sometime soon, because she’s looking positively radiant._

_The rumour mill has slowed down ever since she put that ring on her finger. Some have even offered congratulations for the baby, though old Betsy Stein is still eyeing her suspiciously._

_I think Margaret is confused as you are about how you’ve ended up at this point but, given the blush that creeps up her face sometimes when your name comes up, I’d say she’s harbouring some pretty sizeable feelings of her own._

_I don’t think she’ll run or laugh at you, Hawk. I think asking her would not only make her very happy, but would also provide her with a sense of security she’s so far been lacking. It’d be a solid decision for the future, for both of you._

_As for that business with Trapper, I’m proud of you, son. Margaret truly is a keeper, though I hope you two didn’t damage your friendship too badly._

_Try to stay uncooked if you can,_

 

_Dad_

 

* * *

 

 

_Dear Margaret,_

 

_This may seem out of the blue, but I was wondering if you’d do me the honour of marrying me. Before you say it, no this isn’t just because of the baby. Spending time without you has made me realise just how much you’ve come to mean to me, and I don’t think anyone would make a finer wife. I don’t expect you to stay home all the time, not if you don’t want to._

 

 

_Yours if you’ll have me,_

 

_Hawkeye._

 

* * *

 

 

_Dear Dad,_

 

_I just sent Margaret a letter asking her to marry. That might make me the world’s biggest idiot, but it's a risk I had to take._

 

_Oh, and Trapper’s fine. I think he was a bit taken aback, but he understood._

 

_Your son,_

 

_Hawkeye._

 

* * *

 

 

_Dear Hawkeye,_

 

_Your last letter caught me completely by surprise, but yes, yes I'll marry you. Is it strange that this feels almost normal? I suppose that's a side effect of having spent the past month or more telling people that I'm your wife. It's a relief, actually. I can settle here, I can stop keeping part of me ready to move on when needed._

_But that's not my only reason for saying yes. Like you our time apart has brought clarity to some feelings. Time away from the army and a letter from my father have shown me that what I was brought up to believe were most valuable in a man and a husband are not so important after all. It's shown me that kindness and decency are of far more value than the brass on a collar._

_I'm proud of what I achieved in the army, but rank and title are of little use to me now._

_It is you who has stuck by me and provided for me when you could have easily done nothing at all. That alone speaks volumes._

_I’m counting down the days until the war is over._

 

_Your fiancée,_

 

_Margaret_

 

* * *

 

 

_Dear Hawkeye,_

 

_I’m proud of you, son. You’ve made a certain young lady incredibly happy. Never have I seen a wider or more beautiful smile. She’s been a lot happier since as well. Last night Margaret and I had a talk about mom. She wanted to know what her name was and what she was like, and then we had a look through some of our old family albums. We had a lovely time. I hadn’t realised how much I needed that. You’re right, too, there definitely is a person under there. She’s a lot warmer since you last letter, and very sweet under all those defenses of hers. I think mom would really like her. I think mom would be very proud of you._

_I hope they let you come home soon._

 

_Love,_

 

_Daniel._


	13. Chapter 13

 

Hawkeye’s wrenched into consciousness by a knock on the door, and the sound of someone entering the tent. He speaks without opening his eyes. “Whoever you are, this better be important, or you’re going to be as dead as I feel.”

Radar ignored him. “I’ve got a letter for you, Hawkeye, looks like it’s from Major Houlihan.”

Hawkeye’s eyes snap open as he sits up. “Well why didn’t you say so? Gimme that,” he says, snatching it out of Radar’s hand.

“Uh, Captain McIntyre?”

“What is it, Radar?”

“There’s one for you as well.”

“What, from Major Houlihan?”

“Uh no, sir, the back of yours says Louise.”

“Alright, give it here. Fink.”

Hawkeye was about to open his mail when he realised Radar was still standing there looking expectant. “Don’t you have more mail to hand out or something?”

“I just thought I'd stay for a minute and see how the Major is.”

“Whatever happened to privacy?”

“Uh, it left when the war started, sir.”

Hawkeye glares at him.

“Okay, I’m going, sir.”

Hawkeye tears open the envelope, liberating a letter from inside it. As he unfolds it, a photo falls into his lap. He inhales sharply as he catches sight of its subject. There, depicted in all the glory of black and white, was a very pregnant Margaret. She was in the kitchen, and looked like she had been caught mid stretch and yawn, but to him she’d never looked more gorgeous. He runs his thumb almost reverently across the picture of her rounded belly. He wished he was there. He wished he could rub the palm of his hand over it, feel its warmth, tell her in person how beautiful she looked. With every day that went by, it was more and more unfair. It was his life, dammit, and these were days he'd never get back. He flips it over and reads the date on the back.

_12/16/1951._

That was three whole weeks ago. That meant she’d be even bigger by now.

Trapper’s voice brings his attention back to the present. “You okay, Hawk?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah,” he says, absently, “Just looking at a picture of Margaret.”

“Give us a look.”

Hawkeye hands it over, attempting to look like it’s no big deal, but the glance Trapper shoots him tells him he’s not buying it.

“I wish my wife had looked as good as her when she was pregnant. Not long to go, huh? When’s she due again?”

“Mid January.”

“Whaddya reckon you’ll call it?”

“Well it won’t be after her father. I don’t know, I’ll leave it up to her, she’s done all the hard work.”

“What, no Ben Junior?”

“Bet she’d be more likely to go with Daniel Jr for a boy, hell, she’d probably go for Daniel Jr if it’s a girl.”

“She would not. What does she say?”  
“I dunno, I haven’t read it yet.”

“Well what are you waiting for?”

  
  


_Dear Hawkeye,_

 

_It’s freezing over here. Even with all you and Daniel had said, I’m not sure I fully grasped the magnitude of a winter in Maine. I'm becoming more and more grateful for the fact that we're off to Bridgton in a couple of weeks. I'm sick of being pregnant. Your dad took a photo of me and insisted I send it to you. I’d been hiding from him and his damn camera for days. I look and feel enormous. Every time I walk through a doorway I'm amazed I can still fit through it. I’m meant to be hiding my figure and being modest and proper, but when you’re this size how can you? There’s not a sack on earth that could hide the size of me now. I still can’t believe that we’re going to be parents, let alone together. You’d think by now it’d have fully sunk in._

_He or she is also very active. Some nights I can't sleep but for the fact that they keep moving around. Sometimes they get in a sharp jab downwards and it feels it’s trying to bust out all on their own. Part of me wants the baby to get out of there as soon as possible, but then I remember that you're not here, and I know it’s highly unlikely you’ll be home before it’s born, it hasn’t stopped me hoping. I never really understood before how you could hate the army, how you could show such disrespect, but I’m understanding more and more. I didn’t have anything else. I didn’t have anyone else. I volunteered because I had nothing to lose, but I do now. It all seems so unfair, but, at the very least, war gave us each other._

 

_All my love,_

 

_Margaret._

 

_P.S. Merry Christmas. Your dad and I are planning on sending you a telegram, but just in case we don’t..._

 

He hasn’t even put the letter down when an ever present and familiar announcement rings out over the camp.

There are casualties coming, and lots of them.

 

 

* * *

 

 

A couple of hours later and Hawkeye’s assisting Trapper with a particularly nasty chest wound.

“Pass me that sponge will you, Kellye?”

“Sponge.”

“Clamp.”

“Clamp”

“Hey Hawk, what’s this one?” Trapper begins humming a tune as he puts a clamp on an artery.

“Avalon.”

“Wrong.”

“In a Little Spanish Town.”

“Right”

Frank sneers over at them from his table, “Oh please, I’m in the middle of a stomach.”

Trapper and Hawkeye ignore him.

Try this one Father Mulcahy says, wandering over, humming a tune, apparently unable to resist joining in.

Trapper glances up at him, “On Wisconsin.”

“No, no, no. That was Oh Shepherd, Guide Thy Flock.”

“Oh I should have guessed, I’ve danced to that a thousand times,” Hawkeye says with an edge of sarcasm.

This further incenses Frank. “Shut up, will you! Shut up!” he screams over at them.

“How about you shut up, Frank. You and nurse excitement over there.” Hawkeye glances over at Major Davis, the head nurse who is certainly not Margaret, but the woman just looks benignly at him for a few seconds before turning her attention back to the patient. In a strange way she’s more infuriating than Margaret had ever been. All of the annoyance, none of the fun. But Frank’s not finished yet.

“I’ll have you know that Major Davis and I are simply professionals who can do our jobs without resorting to juvenile behaviour.”

“You and Major Boring. That’s because you’re too incompetent to do more than one thing at a time.”

“I’ll have you know that I am a--”

Henry sighs loudly, a vein starting to bulge in his forehead. “Alright, all of you, shut up!”

“We’re a little late, folks,” Hawkeye says, putting on his best radio announcer voice, “so goodnight from _Name That Tune._ ”

Hawkeye looks up sharply when he hears Henry’s next exclamation. “Home? _Discharged?_ ”

Hawkeye can see Radar nodding and grinning behind his poorly tied mask. “Yes, sir.”

“Home,” Henry breathes, “I’m going home!”

“Congratulations, Henry!” Hawkeye calls over to him, trying to ignore the feeling of tingling numbness spreading over him and the way his hands had started shaking with emotions barely suppressed. Just who did he have to kill to get out of here?

Trapper pauses, “You okay, Hawk?”

“Of course, I'm fine, finest kind. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I dunno, could be the fact that Henry just got told he gets to go home to see his wife and kids.”

“What kind of guy would I be if I begrudged him that?”

“Normal. Hell, I wish it were me. I’d do anything to see my two girls again.”

“Yeah well…” Hawkeye mumbles, barely under his breath. “Can we just concentrate on getting this guy out of here?” He doesn’t want to talk about it. Not here, hell, not anywhere. When the war had started he didn’t think it was possible to want to go home more than he had then. He’d been wrong. Boy had he been wrong.

“Sure,” Trapper agreed, shrugging his shoulders.

Minutes pass in relative silence as they continue to work together to reconstruct shredded internals.

Hawkeye glances over at Henry again. “Guess we should throw the guy a party.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Any dialogue you recognised has been borrowed from Abyssinia Henry (Season 3, episode 24). We’re getting on the home stretch now, so thanks for sticking with me < 3


	14. Chapter 14

 

Hawkeye swirls the remainder of the martini around in his glass before downing the rest of it. It’s Henry’s last night in camp, and he’s running out of reasons not to get completely drunk in  the spirit of feeling sorry for himself.

“Hey Hawkeye,” Henry’s drank enough that his voice is slurring.

Hawkeye turns his attention to him with false seriousness. “Yes, Henry.”

“I always meant to ask, how was it that you ended up with Houlihan anyway? What--,” Henry’s words are cut short as he hiccups, “how on earth did you manage to get her to even let you touch her?”

“Well first you take a man and a woman, and then you--”

“Pierrrrrce,” Henry whines like a child.

“Okay, Okay. All I did was ask her to dance, and then, like all good dates, I grabbed her ass, and one thing led to another...”

Trapper chimes in, his generous dose of alcohol up until now having made him quiet and contemplative as he fiddles with his swizzle stick. “It was not a date.”

“No,” Hawkeye concedes, “It wasn’t. Still the best night of my life, though.”

“That good, huh?” Henry chuckles, “I swear there wasn’t a tent in camp that couldn’t hear you guys. When’s she due again?”

“In a couple of weeks.”

“A couple of weeks. Wow.” Henry breathes out, his voice containing all the wonder of a drunk man.

Hawkeye doesn’t respond. He’s resigned himself to the fact that he’s not going to be magically discharged in time for the birth, but it doesn’t stop the chip on his shoulder from getting heavier every time someone mentions it.

“Hey Henry, how old’s your youngest now?” Trapper says, in an attempt to move the spotlight off his obviously uncomfortable friend.

“He’s, uhhh, a bit over one now.”

“Time really flies when you’re not having fun,” Hawkeye deadpans, his eyes still fixed on his glass.

“I wish I could take you guys home with me. I feel awful guilty that I get to get out of here and you guys don’t.”

“Yeah, well.”

Radar comes running into the club, “Sirs! Captain Pierce, sir!”

Hawkeye sits bolt upright. “What is it, Radar?”

“Message for you from home.”

A hush falls over the club, everybody well aware of the news Radar might be about to deliver.

“Audrey Sylvia Pierce born January 13th at 11.45pm. 7lbs 9oz. Lots of black hair. Margaret and baby doing great. Congratulations. Love, dad.”

“She’s early!”

A cheer goes up and there’s a smattering of applause, but Hawkeye doesn’t seem to notice. He’s too busy choking back tears. A baby, he has a baby. A baby that's thousands of miles away, but a baby nonetheless.

Trapper gives him a brisk hug and slaps him on the back. “Congrats, Hawk.”

“Yeah, congrats!” Henry says sincerely, slurring his words. “Somebody get this man a cigar! Oh, and Radar, come join us.”

“Um, I would sir, but no one else will watch the phone.”

“Bring the, whatchamacallit, the one that doesn’t need to be plugged in.”

“The field telephone, sir?”

“That’s the one.”

“So,” Trapper says, turning to Hawkeye, “Who’s she named after?”

“No idea on the first name, but Sylvia was my mother’s name.”

“Better than Daniel Jr.”

“Much better.”

 

* * *

  


The next morning goes off without a hitch, and Henry lifts off into the air and over the hills as Hawkeye, Trapper and Radar wave him off from the helipad.

Trapper speaks as they squint into the morning sun, “Hopefully next time that’ll be us. God knows we’ve earned it.”

“We’ve got more chance of them serving gourmet food in the mess tent. Hey Radar, what are the chances of me getting a line to Maine sometime later today?”

“Uh, pretty good...Uh oh…”

“What?” But he already knows what. The answer is always the same. More wounded. More blood to add to the never ending red tide. They begin their descent from the helipad with Radar streaking back to camp to warn the others.

Hawkeye found he was increasingly glad the baby had turned out to be a girl. So far the army had only ever drafted men, though, if she was anything like her mother she’d probably be one of the first to volunteer. Hawkeye allows himself the pre surgery luxury of a moment lost in thought. He’s having a hard time visualising what his daughter will be like. Audrey. She’s no longer an abstract concept. She’s real, alive, out in the world and taking breath, but he’s so far away, has been so removed from everything other than her creation, that to him, at least she remains in the realm of the surreal. He tries again, this time picturing a tiny, face with a rosy little mouth, the soft, pale skin of her mother, and a crown of unruly black hair. So very small, so very fragile, and already so demanding, so sure of what she wants. He feels his heart swell and crack simultaneously.

Trapper gives his strangely silent friend a once-over, “You okay, Hawk?”

“What? Oh yeah, I’m fine,” he says as they continue down the hill.

 

* * *

  


It’s five hours later when Radar stumbles into the OR, seemingly oblivious to the yells for him to don a mask. Hawkeye pauses, he’s up to his elbows in bowel. _Shit, now what?_ “Hey Radar, if that’s my discharge give it to me straight!” He yells across the room in an attempt to relieve the mounting pressure, but Radar doesn't seem to hear.

Radar opens his mouth, his voice wobbling. “I have a message.” Radar stops, taking a deep but shaky breath, “Lieutenant Colonel Henry Blake’s plane,” Radar gulps, “was shot down over the Sea of Japan. It spun in...There were no survivors.”

It feels like the air has been sucked out of the room. Hawkeye’s head spins as he tries to keep his hands steady. His reality threatens to warp. It had never occurred to him, he had never wanted it to occur to him that a man could be killed in the crossfire of the war _after_ he’d been set free.

  


The moment surgery ends Hawkeye snaps off his gloves and barges through to Radar’s office without disrobing.The kid’s a wreck, sitting on his bed, with tears streaming down his face. Hawkeye doesn’t ask how he is, he can’t. It feels too much like if he stops _his_ world will collapse, too. “Radar, I need a line to Bridgton Hospital, Maine and I need it right away.” Hawkeye paces the small room in hurried, jagged strides.

“But it’s the middle of the night there!”

“I don’t care, Radar, I need to speak with Margaret. Now how would you like that phone embedded in your skull?”

Radar hurriedly starts dialling. “Hello Sparky? Yeah, I got an urgent call to put through to--”

“Bridgton Hospital, Maine,” Hawkeye interjects with impatience.

“You hear that? Bridgton Hospital, Maine. It’s ringing,” Radar says, handing the receiver to him.

“Hello? Yes I know what time it is. Don’t you dare hang up. I’m calling from Korea--” Hawkeye’s cut off by the person on the other end of the phone.

“Yes I’m Margaret’s husband. Trust me, she’ll be more upset if you don’t wake her, we haven’t seen each other in almost nine months!” There were some benefits to it being such a small hospital.

“I didn’t know you two were married,” Radar whispers, scandalised.

Hawkeye covers the mouthpiece with his hand, rolling his eyes, “We’re not, we’re pretending.” A familiar voice breaks through on the other end. “Hello, Margaret, is that really you?” His eyes are wide. He forgets, for a moment, to breathe.

“It’s you, oh my god.” He feels the tears on his face before he even realises he’s crying.

“Am I okay? Well, now that you mention it, I guess now is as good a time as any to tell you. Henry Blake is dead. He got discharged, his plane got shot out of the sky.”

He listens as Margaret gasps and burst into tears and is conscious of every one of the oceans between them. He marvels at just how far their relationship has come since that fateful night.

“Oh Margaret...But enough about this stupid war. Tell me about you, tell me about our precious bundle! God I’ve missed you.” He sighs, his shoulders relaxing as he listens to her rattle off some details about the birth.

“Oh she has a temper, does she, and it’s my fault?” He laughs with good natured incredulity.

Radar, who’s been hovering nervously for the entire call steps forward. “Uh, Hawk, they’re gonna cut you off.”

Hawkeye nods without turning his attention from Margaret “What? Oh just the army about to cut us off.” His heart leaps when hears a baby’s shrill cry on the other end of the phone. “That’s her?” He chokes up as it’s confirmed that it is, indeed, his daughter.

“Fifteen seconds.”

“Listen, I gotta go.” He wipes the tears from his eyes. “I love you too,” he says tenderly, solemnly, trying to give the words as much gravity as he can. The line goes dead. Hawkeye hands the phone back to Radar, looking every bit as broken as he feels.

“Thanks, Radar.” He mumbles before turning quickly and leaving the room.

Radar lets out a large exhale of breath, leaning forward with his elbows on his desk, fingers pressed to his lips thoughtfully.

He has an idea, only he’s not entirely sure it’s the good kind, not after today. After a moment’s pause he turns back to the phone again before placing another call. “Hello Sparky? Yeah, it’s me again. Listen, I was wondering if you could put me through to Sergeant Johnson down at I-Corps. Yeah that’s the one, the guy who owes me a favour...”


	15. Chapter 15

_Original image belongs to Nicole Ryan of Nicole Ryan Photography._

 

* * *

 

 

Margaret was going home tomorrow and, in her opinion, not a moment too soon. If her week’s stay wasn’t already up she’d be on the phone to Daniel demanding that he come and get her. She was sick of doctors and midwives and their opinions on what she should and shouldn’t be doing with her baby. _Her_ baby. They had opinions on everything. How to feed, how to burp, how to change, never mind that she herself was a nurse, let alone a former head nurse. The final straw had been when she’d looked over at the nursery in time to see a midwife about to give her daughter a bottle. She’d wrenched back the covers and strode over there, snatching her child from the other woman. “How dare you.” She’d hissed, breathing heavily, “How dare you! What is it with this hospital, is it some Maine tradition that you don’t listen to your patients?”

“Mrs Pierce, please--”

“I’ve told the doctors, I’ve told the midwives, _I_ am to be the only person to feed her.”

“But you as a nurse must know that modern baby formula is the best thing for little Audrey--”

“Don’t give me that crap!” She’d faltered for a moment. Not in her rage, but in trying to figure out how to express in a way this woman, that any of these people could understand how important it was to her to do things the way she wanted to do them.

It wasn’t about nutrition, it wasn’t about whether or not science could make better than nature, it was about supply. She’d watched the women in Korea. No matter what the war had thrown at them they’d fed their babies with their bodies. They’d not bothered themselves with powdered milk, scrounging enough money to buy supplies that might not ever arrive. They’d just gotten on with it, and that’s what Margaret wanted to do. Get on with it. Because although she knew she was home now, that she was thousands of miles from the blood, the squalor, the shelling, she didn’t know if she was ever going to be able to stop preparing for the worst.

But she’d said none of that, instead yelling, “She’s my daughter, and I will decide what’s best for her!” and storming out. The midwife opened and closed her mouth a few times, but Margaret, having no interest in hearing more on the subject, had turned on her heel and left. She was struggling to control her rage. Her fits of ire as head nurse had had nothing on this,  but all this baby business had taken things to a whole new level.

It’d been a slow and painful process, but Audrey now lay in her arms, belly full and fast asleep. The kid had the most ridiculous amount of black hair. That and the way she frowned sometimes in her sleep all but confirmed that Hawkeye was indeed her father.

The moment Margaret had seen that thatch of black hair she’d let out a sigh of relief. When all said and done there’d been little chance Hawkeye wasn’t the father, but once the moment of truth had arrived, the prospect of the baby being Frank’s had suddenly loomed large.

Hawkeye had been on her mind a lot lately, though given their situation she supposed it was only natural. What would she do if he never came home? Logically she knew she’d just carry on. But thinking of Henry and his watery grave was too much to bear. It was all so unfair.

He was going to come home. He had to.

She'd only ever wanted two things in life. To make her father proud, and to have her own family. A loving husband and beautiful children were almost within reach, and all she could do was hope and pray that, in her case, fate wouldn’t be cruel enough to snatch it away.

 

 

* * *

  


Hawkeye awoke with a sleepy scowl to the sound of the bugle. That sound drove him mad at any time of day on its’ own, but having the peace of sleep shattered by it never lost its extra edge of rudeness. He buried his face further into his pillow as he remembered that Frank was still in command. Besides, it was cold outside. There was no way he was leaving the almost warmth of his bunk if he didn’t have to. He then briefly wondered if there was any way he could invent teleportation and then go home. That way he’d be where he wanted to be and no one could shoot him out of the sky.

He could hear Frank outside the tent barking orders but made no effort to get up. He then, of course, came into the tent to bark orders.

“You better get yourself up or I’ll have you court martialled! I’ll bet your, your _girlfriend_ wouldn’t be too pleased with that.” He spat out the word girlfriend like it tasted sour.

“Hey Frank, how ‘bout you take that army of yours and shove it...” Hawkeye has more to say on the matter, but is distracted by the sight of a wide eyed Radar scurrying towards the tent. He reaches the Swamp and clatters through the door. “Uh, Major Burns, sir?”

“Not now you little sneak, I’m reprimanding Captain Pierce.”

“But sir, this is about Captain Pierce.”

“Alright, Corporal, what is it?”

“These are his orders, he’s going home!”  
“Lemme see that!” Frank demands, snatching the piece of paper from Radar’s hand. His eyes scan the paper feverishly, checking it for any sign of a lie. Finding none he hands it on to Hawkeye. “Huh, guess you really are going home to your precious Margaret _._ Too bad McIntyre isn’t here to say goodbye.”

Hawkeye froze before sharply looking up from his examination of his orders. Frank was right. Trapper was on R and R in Tokyo and wasn’t due back until tomorrow, and tomorrow was when he was leaving. “Quick, somebody call him!” Hawkeye yells, suddenly frantic.

Radar nod, “I’ll try calling him right away,” he says, scurrying back to his office.

“Get out, Frank, I need to pack.”

“You can’t order me around, I’m your superior officer.”

“In name only for the next twenty four hours. Out!”

Frank made an angry noise but said nothing more before he stalked out of the tent.

Hawkeye slumped back down on his pillow and let out a loud gush of air. It wouldn’t really take him that long to pack everything worth taking home with him, he just needed some time to think. Of course this would happen while Trapper was somewhere else. It was like an unwritten law around here that nothing ever happened like it was supposed to. He guessed really he should write the guy a letter, just in case he didn’t see him, but what was he supposed to say? ‘I’m sorry I got to go home and you’re still here, thanks for all the good times’? It just didn’t feel right. Speaking of right, him being allowed to go home before Trapper didn’t add up. There was no way he could have earned all his points when Trapper hadn’t--He had a whole extra kid _and_ had been in this hell hole two weeks longer than him, and both of those things equalled more points.

It sounded like their friendly, neighbourhood company clerk had pulled some strings--it was the only logical explanation. Hawkeye wasn’t sure how or what, but he certainly wasn't about to look a gift corporal in the mouth or draw any unwanted attention by asking questions. He’d just make sure he sent him something nice when he got home. If he survived.

His blood ran cold. He wondered if Radar knew anyone on the other side they could bribe to get out of here alive.

He had to go home sometime, though, and now was as good a time as any, though he’d be gripping the sides of his seat until he was back safely on land.

Despite that a bubble of hope rose in his chest. He was going to get to meet his little girl while she was still tiny. He was unable to suppress the grin that sparked, or the wave of longing he felt at the thought of kissing Margaret Houlihan for all the world to see. He let out a peal of laughter. For all they'd been through, for all they'd said to each other, for all they now were to each other, the idea of her allowing him to do that felt kind of crazy, but he wasn’t about to let that stop him from doing it anyway.

And then of course there was his dad. His dear old dad. A hug would hardly cut it as repayment for holding them all together, but it was going to have to do for now.

He leapt out of bed, having a brief moment of regret as the freezing air hit his now un-blanketed body, but there was no time for regret. There was packing to be done and home to be going. He rubbed his hands together with with glee.

Home. It was time to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're very much on the home stretch now! Thank you all, once again, for all your kudos and kind comments, they mean a lot, and really keep me going when the words won't flow right x.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your reviews, kudos and support once again! Here it is: second to last.

 

Daniel padded silently from the kitchen to the living room and sat down in the pale, winter sunlight that was flooding the room. The house was silent, though the night before had been anything but. Babies always seemed to come into the world with days and nights reversed. He remembered Hawkeye being the same. Hard work though it was, Daniel was relishing every minute of it. He and Margaret had settled nicely into a routine where she’d feed Audrey and he’d settle her. He didn’t mind how long it took. He was smitten.

He leapt off the couch at the sound of footsteps coming up the front path and raced to the front door. Anything but the doorbell. His hand was almost touching the deadlock when the bell pierced the silence. A startled cry came from where Audrey had been sleeping, and a thump and a string of muffled curses from upstairs.

Daniel sighed heavily and opened the door sharply to reveal a startled teenage boy: Johnny Appleton from up at the post office. “Sorry to bother you Dr Pierce, but there’s an urgent message for you.”

Daniel’s heart plummeted. The death of his son’s former commander had only served to magnify the fear of Hawkeye coming home in a box. He took the envelope from the boy and tore it open, his eyes quickly scanning the slip of paper for any whiff of news. “Home!” he yelled, unable to contain himself. “He’s coming home!”

There was a sharp intake of breath from behind him, causing him to turn and discover a disheveled, robe clad Margaret standing in the hallway with the baby in her arms, squinting through eyes puffy and red from lack of sleep.

“He’s what?” she whispered.

“Home, Margaret, home! The day after tomorrow!” He turned back to the boy at the door and bids him a grateful farewell before moving his attention to a very emotional Margaret and pulling her into a hug. The worry wasn’t going to stop gnawing at him until Hawk was back safely with them again, but boy was he excited. He kissed both Margaret and Audrey on the forehead before heading off in search of a notepad. There were things that needed doing before Hawk arrived home.

 

* * *

 

 

Hawkeye paced back and forth in the limited floor space of the swamp. His bags were packed and his bunk was clear. All he was waiting for now was either Trapper or his ride, depending on which one showed up first. At least wondering whether or not he’d ever see Trapper again was stopping him from thinking of bigger things, such as his impending probable death by missile.

He spun around as the sound of a jeep entering camp reached his ears. His heart sank as he noted the lack of a familiar, curly mop of hair.

“Dammit!” He yelled to no one as he ripped his luggage up off the dusty floor and flung open the door to The Swamp. He promptly dropped it all again as a second jeep sped into camp, screeching to a halt behind the other one with a familiar figure in the passenger seat.

“Trapper, you made it!”

His friend vaulted out of the now stationary vehicle, face sombre even in the face of Hawkeye’s exuberance. “What’s this I hear about you going home?”

Hawkeye gulped, sensing the mood. There was going to be no joking some levity into this one. “I don’t know how, I don’t know why, but my orders came through.”

“Say hi to Margaret and your little girl for me.”

“I will--look we’ll see each other again, okay?”

Trapper merely nodded sharply, his lips pressed firmly together. They both know neither of them can make that promise, but acknowledging that fact would make it all too real. There’s an awkward pause. There’s both too much and too little to be said.

Trapper took a step forward and threw his arms around Hawkeye in a quick, firm, hug, slapping him on the back for good measure. “Travel safe, okay?”

“You too.” It takes Hawkeye several beats to realise that that’s not the right response, but the moment’s already passed.

The driver of his jeep called out, “We gotta go, Captain!”

Of course they did. There was apparently never any time for a decent goodbye around here.

“Why couldn’t I have got myself a helicopter?” Hawkeye muttered, not expecting an answer, but his driver had one anyway. “All used up on casualties, sir.”

“Of course they are. What’s a war without a few more broken bodies?”

The driver didn’t answer, instead starting the jeep. Hawkeye has to muster the courage to look at Trapper one more time, half afraid of what he’ll see if he does, and half worried that he’ll start crying himself if he does.

His eyes find Trapper standing, hands in his pockets, and shrouded in a deceptive calm. But it’s not fooling Hawkeye.

“So long, Hawkeye.”

Hawkeye swallowed a few times, fighting past the lump building in his throat. “Goodbye, Trap.”

He told himself he wasn't going to look back, that he couldn’t bear it, but by the time he’s under the camp sign he’s not only looking, but he’s saluting one of the best friends he’s ever had, and doing so without a shred of irony.

 

* * *

  


The night and its quiet darkness seemed to be stretching on forever. Margaret flopped herself over in bed with frustration for what felt for hundredth time, throwing herself down onto the mattress with a loud sigh. She lay still for a moment, straining her ears for any signs of Audrey stirring in the next room, but heard nothing more than the distant sound of the waves breaking down in the cove. It was always the way. The baby finally had one night of sleeping like a trooper and she was too worked up to sleep. Margaret would also bet that if she _did_ happen to eventually fall asleep, Audrey would surely be squawking soon after. She rolled her eyes at herself. That was the kind of thinking that would end up with her getting no sleep at all. She sighed loudly and clicked on her bedside lamp before flopping back onto her pillow.

He was coming home today and, for all the time she’d spent longing for this moment, she was thrilled, excited, and a little bit terrified. All the anxieties that had since been buried by time and distance were back and keeping her awake. What if they failed? What if he never made it home? What if they ended up hating each other? What if she and Audrey weren’t enough for him? They were all the same old fears, but it didn’t make them feel any less real. It wasn’t all bad, though. She longed to feel his arms around her, to kiss him, to see his face when he meets the person they made together that night. Her body tingled with the anticipation of touching him for the first time in so many months.

She let out another loud sigh before reaching over to click her light off again. Margaret supposed she had better at least _try_ to sleep.

  


Hawkeye thrust his shoulders back, trying to work out some of the kinks put there by spending that long flying in a troop carrier. Miraculously he’d made it. He was lucky, he guessed, that they hadn’t put him on a boat instead. He squinted into the Californian sun. He’d thought that maybe finally landing stateside proper might feel more momentous, but really it was just a cleaner version of anywhere, but with a more benign state of chaos. It was just another place on the way home. He made his way across the runway towards the terminal, stopping short upon his arrival inside the building, squinting at the signs hanging from the ceiling. His next flight was a civilian flight. Which meant more comfort, but also more staring at his uniform. After that he had a bus ride to Augusta, after which he’d _finally_ almost be home. He briefly considered buying himself a newspaper but decided against it. It was no use. The only news he would be interested in would be a voice over the PA system telling him that he’d reached his final destination and that his family were waiting for him at the bus station. Hawkeye sat down at the gate for his next flight and pulled his hat off his head, spinning it around on his index finger. Until then, only--he looked down at his watch--roughly twelve hours until he’d be home. Maybe he would grab that newspaper after all.

  



	17. Chapter 17

_Original image belongs to R38 on Flickr_

 

The moment the bus pulled into the station Hawkeye’s eyes were frantically scanning the crowds from the bus window. Midway through the journey he’d paid the guy next to him to swap seats. The man had taken one look at his now well and truly travel rumpled dress uniform and asked no further questions.

He’d imagined this moment thousands of times, but nothing prepared him for when his eyes found them in the crowd. He vaguely registered the presence of his dad, but it was hard to pretend that he had eyes for anyone other than Margaret. A more gloriously beautiful sight he’d never seen. There she was, luminous in pale sunlight, bundled against the cold, blonde hair spilling out from underneath a winter hat. She hadn’t seen him yet, though both she and his father had spotted his bus. He shifted his gaze to the bundle in her arms, straining his neck, scanning for any detail he might glean, but she was too bundled up for him to see much at all.

The moment Margaret noticed him was like lightning. He felt the shock go straight to the pit of his stomach. Her eyes widened, and he could see her sharp intake of breath, her exclamation to his dad. He raised his hand in what felt like a pitiful wave.

The moment the bus stopped he was standing. There was no way he was going to wait patiently as everyone else got off the bus first. He wondered if he could pay the guy next to him to move back to the window seat. The other man seemed to understand and made no move to get up, instead moving his legs to the side so that Hawkeye could squeeze past.

Hawkeye thanked him and squeezed himself into the throng of people beginning to jostle their way out of the bus. Some gave him and his uniform a knowing glance, but he didn’t notice. He didn’t notice much, reality be damned. He was too focussed on the blonde at two o’clock. He mentally shook himself, but she’s still standing there, eyes meeting his. She’s really there.

She and Daniel were making their way towards him, but in three huge strides and a yell of their names he’d made up the distance, flinging his arms around Margaret. He pulled her to him tightly, all the while trying not to squash the baby, kissing her on the side of her head and inhaling the scent of her hair. He looked down at Audrey, tears that had already been threatening to burst banks running down his face. He was a walking cliche, because she was the most amazing thing he'd ever seen. It was too early to tell who she resembled the most, but that certainly wasn't his nose he saw replicated in miniature. “Margaret,” he said, meeting her identically teary blue eyes, “she's beautiful. She's absolutely beautiful.”

Margaret laughed, a sound that came out half sob, as she lifted the bonnet on Audrey’s head. “Look at her hair!”

He couldn't help but grin. Now that was his. He looked at Margaret again before dipping his head, capturing her lips with his own in a firm but chaste kiss. He scanned her face as they broke apart before putting his hand to her cheek and going in for round two. This time it was far from chaste, complete with open mouths and satisfied sigh. Hawkeye was impressed she managed to hold on to Audrey.

 

Daniel stood next to them, grinning. He’d not been sure what to expect when he saw them together for the first time. Whether there’d be any awkwardness, or whether they’d fit together right away, but to him and any outsider who might be watching, they looked like just another couple who'd been separated by war.

 

* * *

 

 

As they drove Margaret looked across the back seat of the car at Hawkeye, who sat holding Audrey, watching him as he gazed down at her still-sleeping face, his face conveying something near to bliss. Despite their initial greeting, despite the fact that they were _engaged,_ she was having a little trouble adjusting to the new normal. Their normal. It was one thing to agree to marriage proposals and trade ‘I love you’s through the mail, but another thing entirely to have him sitting here after all that time and distance.

She didn’t regret any of it. There was no doubt in her mind that this was exactly where she wanted to be, but newness and unfamiliarity were two qualities of relationships that always made her nervous.

As if sensing her unease Hawkeye lifted his eyes, returning her gaze with delight in his. “She’s perfect. If I’d known holding your own baby felt this good I’d have had one ages ago.”

Margaret froze as he chuckled at his own joke before sobering. “Really though, I’m glad it’s her and I’m glad it’s now and with you. A guy couldn’t ask for more.”

He reached out and took her hand in his, lacing their fingers together, before changing his mind and tugging her closer, causing her to slide across the seat so that he could put his arm around her.

Daniel looked at them in the rear-view mirror, eyes bright. “You two are enough to make an old man misty eyed.”

Neither of them said anything, but Hawkeye looked down at the top of her blonde head as a smile spread across her face. She couldn’t quite bring herself to look him in the eye. It was still too much, too new. Instead she tentatively leaned into him and rested her head on his shoulder. Here was to the first day of the rest of their lives.

 

* * *

 

Trapper sat on his bunk, watching the morning go by. It was one of those quiet ones. There were a couple of nurses sitting outside in the sun, and Frank was wandering around muttering after the new CO had told him off for bullying some of the enlisted men. First he’d been replaced, then he’d been moved back into The Swamp, and now this. He was enjoying watching Frank suffer.

His new bunkmate wandered in from outside. “Looks like Radar’s bringing the mail around.”

Trapper didn’t mind the new guy. He was chirpy, Californian, and ridiculously affable, but he didn’t seem to be able to stand Frank so there was hope yet.

There was a knock on the tent door as Radar let himself in. “Mail for you, sirs. Here’s one for you, Captain Hunnicutt, from Mill Valley, California,”

“Thanks, Radar.”

“...and one for Captain McIntyre from Crabapple Cove, Maine.”

Trapper met Radar’s gaze. “Gimme that,” he said, as he grabbed the envelope from Radar’s hand.

 

_Dear Trapper,_

_I hope things are all fine in that cesspool we like to call ‘Korea’, and that the enemy has done us all a favour and captured Frank Burns._

_It’s strange being home, but certainly not the bad kind, though it’s possible that I got more sleep in Korea than I do now._

_Margaret and I are got married on Saturday. It was a small affair. Just a few of the friendlier townsfolk and my dad. We didn’t even bother sending her dad an invite, we’ll just send him a postcard later telling him, which, I might add, is more than he deserves. She and I seem to work well together. Surprisingly well. Who’d have thought?_

_Audrey’s amazing. I know people say that there’s something almost magical about seeing your own child for the first time, but she really is a sight to behold. Though, having said that, she yells just like her mother. I hope you get to go home to your girls soon._

_Hey, would you be able to do me a favour? It’d be fabulous if you could break the news to Frank about me and Margaret being married in the least sensitive way possible._

 

_Your friend,_

_Hawkeye_

 

Trapper smirked a half smile and let out a quiet chuckle, causing BJ to look over at him curiously. “Is that from your former bunkmate?”

“That’s the one.”

“What happened with that guy?”

“He got our head nurse pregnant while she was seeing ferret-face over there, asked her to marry him via the mail, and then got sent home just in time to meet his three week old daughter.”

BJ laughed, “Amazing! How’d he pull that one off?”

“No idea ”

“And home, huh? Reckon we could con Radar into pulling the same trick for me? I’ve got a cute baby daughter at home.”

Trapper merely shrugged. The fact that he himself remained in Korea was still a little too raw to touch that one. “Hey, you wanna go and make Frank’s day?”

“How’s that?”

Trapper waved the letter in the air. “Hawk and Hot Lips just got married. He wants us to tell Frank for him.”

BJ burst out laughing, clapping his hands together. _“Hot Lips?”_

Trapper grinned a slightly rueful grin. “That’s what we used to call her.”

“Brilliant! Let’s go find Frank.”

Smirking, Trapper stood up, letter in hand, and headed for the door with BJ bringing up the rear.

He supposed every cloud had a silver lining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: So here we are, the end! Thank you so very much to everyone who’s read and commented or left kudos, it wouldn’t have been the same without you. See you next fic < 3


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